


Something More

by emmagrant01



Series: Something Like This [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Fic extras, M/M, Multi, Something Like This, content warnings and tags from the original fic apply, occasional appeareances by real people but this isn't intended to be rpf, ratings and pairing will vary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-05-15 14:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 72,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14792444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: I’m re-reading Something Like This to get my head back into this universe, and along the way I’m going to write some little fics - alternate POVs, extra scenes, and so on. I’ll post them all here as a series. I’m shooting for about one per chapter, but I may deviate from that. They’ll vary in length and will be mostly unbeta’d.





	1. Zimms

**Author's Note:**

> **Index of Extras**
> 
> 1\. Zimms: Pre-chapter 1, Whits POV of meeting Jack. Rated T/M-ish. 1000 words. Whits/Jack if you squint  
> 2\. Braden: Set pre-chapter 1, Bitty POV of meeting Braden, Bitty/Braden, rated T, 1800 words  
> 3\. Eric: Set during chapter 2, Whits POV of meeting Bitty, rated T, sort of Whits/Bitty and sort of Bitty/Jack, 1400 words  
> 4\. Rookie: Set during chapter 3, Janssen POV of Whits, rated T, 1300 words  
> 5\. Jack: Set during chapter 4, Braden POV, of meeting Jack, Bitty/Braden, Bitty/Jack, rated M, 2100 words  
> 6\. Whitmann: Set during chapter 5, in-universe fandom reacts to that pic of Jack and Whits that Bitty posted to Twitter, Jack/Whits rpf, rated T, 800 words  
> 7\. Missed: set during chapter 7, Bitty POV of the post-Flyers phone call with Jack, Bitty/Jack, rated E, 2100 words  
> 8\. Texts: Text messages between Bitty and others over the course of a few days, during chapters 7 and 8, Whits/others, rated M, 1700 words  
> 9\. Parse: Set at the end of chapter 9, Whits POV of meeting Parse, Whits/Parse first time, rated E, 3500 words  
> 10\. Date: Set during chapter 11, Bitty POV of dinner with Jack, so much angst, rated T, 1600 words. (So. Much. Angst.)  
> 11\. Out: Set during chapters 12 and 13, Whits POV after he comes out to the team, Rated M, 2600 words (Content warning for threatened sexual assault, which was referred to in the original fic.)  
> 12\. Ranger: Set after chapter 13, OMC POV, Whits hooks up with a New York Ranger, rated E, 3200 words  
> 13\. Home: Set during chapter 14, Alicia's POV of Jack and Whits’ visit to Montreal, Rated E, 3100 words  
> 14\. Senator: Set during chapter 15, OMC pov, Whits/OMC and the ugly events of the Falcs/Sens game, rated E, 3000 words  
> 15\. Kevin: Set during chapters 8-15, OMC POV, Kevin’s story, rated E, so much angst, 6500 words  
> 16\. Scratch: Set during chapter 15, Whits POV of a hookup with a healthy scratch from the other team... during a game, Whits/OMC, rated E, 2600 words  
> 17\. Choose: Set during chapter 15, Bitty POV, Bitty has to choose between Jack and Kevin, angst, rated T, 3500 words  
> 18\. Set during chapter 17, Whits’ POV of New Year’s Eve and the kiss with Bitty, technically Whits/Bitty but really Bitty/Jack, Rated T, 5000 words  
> 19\. Dani: Set during chapter 18, Dani’s POV of the week leading up to the Falcs/Avs game and what happened next, rated E, 5900 words  
> 20\. Surprise: Set during chapter 19, Bitty’s POV of the night Jack comes to the Haus, rated E, 8200 words  
> 21\. ASG: Thursday: Set just before chapter 22, the start of an arc of Parse's POV of the All-Star game and his developing relationship with Whits, Parse/Whits/OMC, rated E because this is 90% porn, 5500 words  
> 22\. ASG: Friday: Set before, during, and after chapter 22, Parse POV, Parse/Whits, offscreen Whits/OMC, rated E, 6800 words
> 
> ***

( **Deets:** Pre-chapter 1, Whits POV. Rated T/M-ish. 1000 words. Whits/Jack if you squint.)

Taylor has been looking forward to camp for months. Mostly because he misses hockey — the season was too short and the summer too long — but also because he needs a distraction from the shitshow his personal life has become.

He arrives in Providence early, just before Labor Day. After staying up all last season, he’s feeling pretty confident about this year, so his mom comes along to help with apartment hunting. She’s done her homework; she’s looked at a lot of places online and has even found an agent. They only have to visit a few places before he finds the one he wants. It’s a one-bedroom with a beautiful kitchen and a great view of the river, in a building with underground parking. The monthly rent makes him choke a little, but it’s within his budget. It’s not like he’s really spending any of the money he’s making anyway. He stayed in Janssen’s guest bedroom for most of last year, and he’s still driving the car his parents bought him before he went to college. 

His mom helps him get moved in before she goes back to Dallas. He’s glad to have the place to himself, but it’s still weird to be alone. He’s never been alone in his entire life, went from living at home to living with roommates in college, then billeting with Janssen and his family during his rookie year. He’s never actually had a place all to himself until right now, with no one there to tell him what to do or when to eat, or anything.

He and Dani had talked about getting a place together, something that would be theirs alone, maybe even this summer. Obviously, that didn’t happen.

After his mom leaves, he revels in being able to do shit like watch TV naked and listen to music at one in the morning without headphones. He spends all the time he’s not working out with his trainer ordering in and watching Netflix, and trying very hard not to think about Dani. 

He’s not very successful at the last one.

Camp is still a week away, and he’s going a little stir-crazy. He’s lonely, and even though he knows he won’t be once the season gets started, the quiet is starting to grate on him. What he ought to do is make a Grindr profile and find someone to make him forget about his ex-boyfriend for a while. He’s not confident he could really have an anonymous hookup in Providence, though. The idea of being outed for a stupid hookup, right before the season starts, is terrifying. It’s not worth the risk. 

He watches porn and counts down the days instead.

There are finally just five days until camp, few enough that the remaining stretch of loneliness seems bearable. He’s back from his morning workout, in the elevator from the parking garage level, and leaning back against the wall. Sergei’s been kicking his ass this last week, but in a good way. He showered at the facility, but he’s still sweating like crazy. He might take another one, long and hot, maybe take his time jerking off while he’s at it. 

The elevator doors open on the lobby level, and a man steps on, grocery bag in hand. Taylor’s first thought is _fuck, he’s hot_ , which is objectively true — he’s tall, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and an incredible ass. His second thought is _oh shit, that’s Jack Zimmermann_. 

Jack Zimmermann, son of hockey legend Bad Bob Zimmermann, and signed by the Falconers last spring after leading his college team all the way to the NCAA finals. Jack Zimmermann, his new teammate, who apparently lives in the same building.

“Zimmermann, hey,” Taylor says.

Zimmermann turns to stare blankly at him.

“Taylor Whitton,” he says, holding out a hand. “I play for the Falcs.”

“Oh!” Zimmermann says, and switches his bag to the other hand so he can shake Taylor’s. 

He’s got big hands. Taylor pushes that thought way, way down. 

“Right, yeah,” Zimmermann says. “Whitton. University of Michigan. You had a great rookie season, 14 goals and what, 47 points?”

“Yeah, that’s… wow.” Taylor feels his cheeks heat. The idea that someone like Zimmermann would know anything about Taylor’s career is kind of incredible. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, eighth floor. You?”

The elevator doors open on four. “This is me, actually.” Taylor really, really doesn’t want to get off the elevator, but it would be weird not to.

“Oh,” Zimmermann says. “Nice. We’re neighbors, eh?””

Taylor steps halfway out the door, enough to keep it from closing on him. “We should, like, get dinner or something.” Shit, does it sound like he’s hitting on him? He hopes not. “We can talk about training, and I can fill you in on all the things to expect in camp.”

Zimmermann’s face lights up, and it’s sort of adorable. “I… yeah, that’d be great, sure.” He glances down at the bag in his hands. “Um, not tonight, but maybe tomorrow?”

“Wanna meet in the lobby at seven?”

“Yeah, that works.” 

Taylor grins. “Sweet, bro. See you then.” He takes a step backward and lets the elevator doors close. The last thing he sees is Zimmermann’s smile.

He leans his forehead against the door of his apartment and groans. He knew, theoretically, that Zimmermann was a good looking dude, but in person he’s even hotter than Taylor expected. It’s incredibly inconvenient.

He’s not going to fuck this up with a crush or anything, though. He learned the hard way that dating a teammate is a bad idea, and he’s not going to make that mistake twice. Jack Zimmermann is going to be amazing for the team, and Taylor’s going to do everything he can to make him feel welcome and comfortable here. 

He’s going to be Zimmermann’s friend, and that’s going to be enough.


	2. Braden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set pre-chapter 1, Bitty POV, Bitty/Braden, rated T, 1800 words

Bitty is up to his elbows in flour when the doorbell rings, so he’s not going to go answer it. It’s probably a delivery anyway. (Chowder has a serious Amazon Prime problem. Bitty’s been meaning to talk to him about it.)

Half a minute passes, and the doorbell rings again. 

“Hey!” Bitty shouts, “Somebody get that!”

There’s no response: no shout back, no sound of feet on the stairs or heading across the living room toward the door. Is he actually the only one here? Bitty frowns.

The doorbell rings a third time.

He groans and sets aside the dough he was working. Whoever’s there isn’t going away, and apparently everyone else in the Haus thinks it’s Bitty’s job to deal with it. Ugh.

He wipes his hands off and heads toward the front door. There’s a guy standing there, possibly the dude-iest bro Bitty’s ever seen. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt with _Suns Out Guns Out_ printed on the front, a pair of camo cargo shorts, flip-flops that have seen better days, and a backwards snapback. All that’s missing is a wad of chew in his cheek. 

Across the street, Bitty can see half the LAX frat watching through their front window. He really should have pretended he wasn’t home.

“What?” Bitty asks, only barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

The guy stares back at him, unblinking.

Bitty tries again. “Did you want something?”

“Oh!” The guy’s cheeks go pink, and it’s so incongruous with his carefully cultivated douchey look that Bitty is momentarily taken aback. The guy holds up a chipped coffee cup, looking genuinely nervous. “Can I, uh…” The rest of his words are so mumbled Bitty can’t make them out.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I… um… I need to, uh… I mean…” The guy closes his eyes as if trying to get himself to focus, then says, “Sugar. You got any?”

Bitty’s gaze shifts over to the LAX house across the street, where the guys crowded in the window seem to be pointing and laughing, then back to the blushing, awkward dude-bro on his doorstep. “Is this some kind of hazing thing?”

“No! Course not.” The guy gestures with the cup. “I just… I was gonna make some cookies, you know.”

“Cookies.” Bitty folds his arms across his chest and leans against the door frame. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“You can bake cookies?”

“Course I can. Bruh, gimme a break here.”

Bitty gives him the most skeptical look he can muster. “What kind?”

“Chocolate chip.” The guy smirks a little, like he’s proud he thought of that so quickly.

“And you’ve got flour, salt, butter, baking soda, vanilla, eggs, _and_ chocolate chips — but no sugar?”

The guy’s expression falls. “I… well. Like… yeah, sure. All I need is sugar.” His smile falls somewhere between cocky and hopeful. Bitty can’t help but find his persistence sort of endearing. 

“Fine. White or brown?”

“Uh… brown?”

“Light or dark?”

The guy’s eyes narrow. “Okay, now you’re just fucking with me.” 

Bless his heart. This boy is in way over his head, and he doesn’t even know it. He’s kind of helpless-looking, though, almost like a lost puppy. As Bitty considers, the guy actually sticks his lower lip out the tiniest bit — good lord. Bitty can’t say no in the face of that.

He sighs in the most put-upon way he can manage, then steps back and opens the door a little wider. “If you’re serious about this, I suppose I could help you out.” He nods toward the kitchen.

The guy hesitates a moment, then looks back over his shoulder at his teammates before walking through. Bitty levels a glare at the faces he can see through the window before closing the door behind him.

“So, what’s your name?” Bitty asks once they’re in the kitchen.

“Braden,” the guy says. Now that they’re inside, he seems almost skittish. He takes off his snapback and runs a hand through his short hair. “What’s yours?”

“Eric.” 

“Eric,” Braden repeats, staring back at Bitty. “Cool name, bro.”

“Uh… thanks?” 

“I have an uncle named Eric, but you’re nothing like him. I mean, duh, why would you be? He’s like 50 and shit, and you’re all… I mean, you… you’re so...” Braden winces and looks away. “Uh… you play hockey?”

Bitty’s trying really hard to keep a straight face now. Braden’s weirdly flustered, and also kind of cute. With the hat off, and if Bitty ignores like, everything but his face. “I do, believe it or not.”

“No, I believe it,” Braden says, his voice so earnest Bitty wants to squish him a little. “I mean, you’re kind of short, but like, you got some serious thighs going on there, so—” Braden’s face goes very red. He looks like he wants to crawl into a hole. 

Bitty’s starting to be very glad he opened that door. He leans back against the counter and grins. “You think so?”

“Uh,” Braden says, and then presses his hands over his face. “Oh my god, I’m fucking this up so hard.”

“You really are.” Bitty bites back a laugh. “It’s pretty cute, to be honest.” 

Braden looks up at that. “Yeah?” His whole demeanor changes right before Bitty’s eyes, from awkward to brazen. He smiles in a way he clearly thinks is charming, but just looks kind of douchey. 

(You can take the boy out of the LAX frat, but.) 

“You call guys cute a lot?” Braden continues. He leans against the counter next to Bitty and honest-to-god _flexes_. 

Bitty’s eyebrows arch upward. It’s not like he never gets flirted with; he just usually runs the other way when it happens. Or rather, he did for the last two years, because he was young and terrified, and it was easier to hide behind the giant crush he had on his straight best friend than to deal with anyone else’s attraction to him. 

Jack’s moved on now, though, and Bitty… well, Bitty spent the last few months thinking about how to do some moving on himself. He kissed a few boys over the summer, for starters, shared handjobs with one, and gave his first blowjob to another. He pretended it was Jack the whole time, which he knows isn’t healthy, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was pathetic. 

But now there’s a cute guy in front of him, one who seems interested, and hey — maybe this is an opportunity to move on a little more. 

“Sometimes,” Bitty replies, letting his smile go sly. 

Braden slides a little closer and reaches out, sets his hand on Bitty’s hip. “And you think I’m cute?”

Bitty bites his lower lip and looks up at Braden through his eyelashes. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Braden’s other hand lands on Bitty’s shoulder, curls around the back of his neck, then he pulls Bitty in. His mouth is hot and wet, and the kiss is sloppy, inexperienced. It’s still a kiss, though, a kiss with a cute guy who’s interested in Bitty, and who might be up for something more. Bitty slides his hands around Braden’s waist, settles them on the curve of his ass. Braden’s body is lean and muscular beneath his fingers. He’s got the build of an athlete, unlike the boys Bitty fooled around with this summer. This boy is more like what he wants, more like— 

“Hey, Bits do you— OH my god, sorry!”

Braden pulls away, puts three feet between them, his expression one of horror. Nursey had left the kitchen just as fast as he’d entered, though, and they’re alone again.

“Shit,” Braden says, panic clearly rising in his cheeks.

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Bitty tells him. “The guys are all cool.”

“I don’t—” Braden starts, then closes his eyes. He suddenly looks very young, like the frog he is. “I’m not… I mean…”

 _Ah._ “Look, Braden… First of all, this is Samwell, okay? Most people here get it. These guys, my team — they’ve all known I’m gay for years, and they’re great. They’re not gonna say anything.” Well, not to anyone outside the Haus, anyway. Bitty’s gonna get chirped within an inch of his life the moment Braden leaves.

Braden is not really calming down, though. He runs his hands through his hair, still looking like he’s ready to bolt. “It’s not — just — Look, nobody on my team knows. They can’t know, okay?”

“They won’t.” Bitty takes a step closer, rubs a hand up and down Braden’s arm. “It’s fine. Look, I’m just gonna get you that cup of sugar and you can go back, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Braden is quiet while Bitty gets the sugar out and fills his coffee cup. He hands it to Braden, who tucks it against his chest.

Braden looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. “I don’t really know anybody here, you know? I mean, I know my teammates, but it’s not like… You know how it is, right? They’re all talking about the girls they’re picking up, and I’m just…”

“I know.” 

“I’ve been pretending I’ve got a girlfriend back home.” He shakes his head. “I thought there’d be someone else on the team that was… like me, you know, but…”

Bitty sighs. “Classes haven’t even started yet. Just hang in there, okay? It’ll get better.”

“Yeah.” Braden bites his lip and looks at Bitty again. “Maybe, uh… I mean, could I get your number?”

Bitty smiles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Sure.”

After they exchange numbers, Braden looks like he wants to kiss Bitty again, but Nursey’s voice echoes down the hall, talking to Dex from the sound of it. Braden goes all deer-in-the-headlights again. 

Bitty gives him a shove toward the door. “Go home, Braden. And text me sometime, okay?”

Braden nods, then turns and flees with his cup of sugar.

Bitty waits until he hears the front door close, then leans back against the kitchen counter. Well — that was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. Braden seems skittish and inexperienced, which could be more trouble than it’s worth. He was kind of cute, though, and he was definitely interested. Bitty has no idea if they’ve got anything much in common, but it’s not like they’d have to do a heck of a lot of talking. 

Bitty took some baby steps toward getting over Jack this summer. Maybe it’s time to make something more like a leap.

The kitchen door opens, and Nursey’s head peeks through. “First of all, I’m really sorry,” he says. “But second of all, was that one of the _LAX bros_?”

Bitty’s hesitation is all the answer he seems to need. 

“Bits,” he says, voice dripping with disappointment. “Bro.”

Bitty presses his hands to his cheeks and grins.


	3. Eric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14087995), Whits POV, rated T, sort of Whits/Bitty and sort of Bitty/Jack, 1400 words

Taylor’s been looking forward to meeting Zimms’ friends ever since he’d mentioned a bunch of them were coming to their season opener. Taylor remembers what it was like to have a group of his old teammates come see him play in the show, and he’s excited on Zimms’ behalf. Maybe a little jealous too, if he’s honest — he’s lost touch with most of those guys now, and even more since the breakup. 

He also a little nervous, too. Zimms is basically his best friend on the team, and these are _his_ friends, local friends even. They’re going to be around a lot, and Taylor really wants them to like him. 

He’d asked Zimms questions over the last week: who all’s coming, what are they like, and so on, which Zimms had of course interpreted as “how good are they at hockey, please be very specific.” So now Taylor knows the on-ice strengths and weaknesses of each of these guys, along with their fitness regimens and the degree to which they do or do not follow recommended nutrition plans, and not much else. That’s okay, though; he can learn the rest when he meets them in person.

The person he’s most interested to meet, though, is Bittle, Zimms’ former linemate and closest friend. He’s heard about Bittle’s obsessive (but incredible) baking, his annoying taste in music, and his terrible study skills (though he apparently helped Zimms pass a class they took together). He also knows that Bittle is Very Good at Hockey: he plays left wing, he’s incredibly quick on the ice, has great hands, and is a fantastic playmaker who assisted on half of Zimms’ goals last year. Taylor hears so much about Bittle’s hockey over the course of the week that he starts to feel a little inadequate in comparison. Whoever this Bittle guy is, Zimms really seems to like and respect him, and that’s saying quite a lot.

So it’s safe to say that, whatever Taylor expected, it was not that Bittle would turn out to be a cute little Georgia boy named Eric with sandy hair and big brown eyes. He thinks maybe Zimms had mentioned Bittle was on the small side, but Taylor was picturing like 5’10”, not half a foot smaller than every other guy on the ice. Taylor had a couple of teammates who were on the small side for hockey players, and most of them had made up for it by picking fights with bigger guys to prove they were tough. But Bittle doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’s ever dealt a hit in his life. He looks like he might get crushed like a bug against the boards on a regular basis. Taylor hasn’t played with or against a guy his size since Midget. He’d almost think Zimms had been pranking him, but hockey is not a thing Zimms would ever bullshit anyone about.

So all of that was unexpected, but it’s cool. He doesn’t let his surprise show, just rolls with it. Surprising things come in small packages, right? He’s sure he’ll get a chance to watch Bittle in action at some point. 

The thing Taylor wasn’t prepared for was for Bittle — Eric — to be so completely fucking adorable. And… okay, Taylor knows better than to make assumptions about people, but Eric’s been looking at him with what seems like interest all night. Taylor’s been looking back, less subtly every passing minute, and he’s pretty sure he’s not wrong here. 

Taylor feels a lot of things about that. Relief, for one: Zimms has been talking about this guy like he’s one of his very best friends, and if Zimms’ college BFF is gay, that means Taylor is going to have someone he can trust on the team this year. That’s huge, something he’s going to need some time to wrap his brain around. He’s also a little wary — he’s not sure hitting on someone’s good friend and old college teammate is a good idea. Eric’s fucking _hot_ , though, and he’s leaning into Taylor and hanging on every word and smiling right back. His accent is adorable, and he’s funny and outgoing, and Taylor starts to mentally calculate the distance between Providence and Samwell. 

When Eric heads to the kitchen, Taylor takes it as a hint and follows. Eric smiles at him over his shoulder, all big eyes and blond eyelashes, and Taylor’s thinking seriously about making a move. 

Zimms follows them into the kitchen, though, and puts on a show of possessiveness that kind of freaks Taylor out. He all but ignores Taylor’s presence, then gets into Eric’s space like he’s staking a claim. Eric doesn’t seem to mind, though, just lights the fuck up when he’s got Zimms’ full attention. 

It’s… Taylor isn’t sure what it is, but he’s going to back off a little.

He heads out on the balcony to smoke up with Shitty and Lardo, who remind him so much of people he used to know at Michigan. Lardo in particular reminds him of the captain of the women’s hockey team, who’d dated their goalie most of the time he’d known her. She was small and fast, and had a wicked sense of humor. She could also drink most of the guys under the table, something that appears to be in Lardo’s skillset too.

“Bruh,” Shitty says, then pauses to exhale. “On behalf of Samwell Men’s Hockey, I need to say a big fucking thank you for taking care of our captain.” He passes Taylor the joint.

“Thanks for sharing him,” Taylor says, grinning. He takes a long drag, then passes the joint on to Lardo. 

“There’s enough of Jack to go around,” she says, looking thoughtful.

“Dat ass,” Shitty says, and they laugh and fistbump each other. “But seriously, bro,” Shitty continues, knocking his knee against Taylor’s, “Jack’s special, right? He seems like a hockey robot until you get to know him, but when you get down to it, he’s just an awkward pancake of a dude who happens to be fucking amazing at hockey. You know?”

Taylor’s not exactly sure what Shitty means, but he’s gonna roll with it. He nods his head and takes the joint from Lardo’s fingers when she offers it.

They head back inside not long after that, and Taylor doesn’t miss the way Zimms and Eric immediately scoot a foot apart on the sofa. Even weirder is the conversation after, which is one of the gayest Taylor has experienced while in a group of hockey players. By the time Shitty asks Zimms if Eric is cuddly in bed, Taylor’s feeling like an asshole, because one of two things is going on: either Zimms and Eric are secretly dating (which would honestly explain _so much_ ) or they’re stupidly hung up on each other and both waiting for the other to make a move.

As the evening goes on, Taylor starts leaning toward the second option. They don’t act like a couple at all, even in the ways couples who think they’re being secretive still do. They watch each other when they think the other isn’t looking, and are somehow simultaneously awkward and intimate. It’s the strangest thing Taylor has ever seen.

He has another beer, then flirts experimentally with Eric again, just to see what Zimms will do. Not only does Zimms get even more possessive, he gets _handsy_. Zimms never touches anyone, never flirts, doesn’t so much as look at an attractive person, male or female, with anything other than detached interest. The guys have been calling him Zimmbot behind his back, and Taylor was starting to think it was a fair nickname. But seeing Zimms around Eric is kind of fascinating, like there’s this whole other _human_ side to him Taylor’s never been privy to before. 

Taylor ducks out earlier than he’d planned, partly to give those two some time alone, but also to give himself a chance to process it all. He’s pretty sure he’s not reading this wrong. Eric looks at Zimms like he hung the fucking moon, and Zimms seems to be pretty gone on him too, but Taylor’s almost certain neither of them can see it. He’s not even sure Zimms is _aware_ that he’s into Eric. Taylor doesn’t understand how that could even work, but he’s not sure how else to explain it. 

He does know one thing, though: hanging around Zimms’ friends is going to be pretty damn interesting.


	4. Rookie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14156674), Janssen POV, rated T, 1300 words

Curtis Janssen takes a sip of the IPA Rolly sets in front of him, and nods approvingly. “Yeah, that’s pretty good.”

“I love this shit,” Rolly says, sliding into the opposite side of the booth. “It’s local, so you can only get it here.”

They don’t talk about the game they lost to the ‘Canes tonight, because the game was shit and they’re gonna get reamed out in the next team meeting anyway. They watch the football highlights playing on the nearest screen instead, and argue about whether the Patriots are gonna go all the way this year.

Ten minutes in, Whits joins them, sliding in next to Curtis with a beer in hand. He sets it on the table with a loud _thunk_ and sighs dramatically. 

“We’re not talking about the game,” Curtis warns him, “so don’t even start.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Whits says, bumping Curtis’ knee under the table. 

“Where’s your better half?” Rolly asks.

It was meant as a chirp, but Whits doesn’t seem to notice. “In the room. He seemed like he wanted to be alone tonight.”

One of Rolly’s eyebrows rises. “Like, recharging his batteries alone, or jerking off to porn alone?”

Curtis snorts. “Can you imagine Zimmbot watching porn? He’d probably analyze it the way he does video.”

“He’s got good hands, but he still can’t hit the five-hole,” Rolly says, snickering. “That was a filthy entry, but the refs’ll probably let it slide.”

Whits almost cracks a smile at that, staring down into his beer.

Curtis watches him for a moment. He’s different this year, not the happy-go-lucky rookie who’d lived in Curtis’ house last season, who’d joked around with his wife and played with his kid. He’s pretty sure most of it is the breakup — if he ever meets this Dani, he’s gonna give her a piece of his mind — but he feels like there’s something more going on there. The kid’s played well this season, better than any of them had expected, has totally earned his spot on the top line. Even with the loss tonight, Whits got a goal and an assist. He should be partying with the other young guys, but instead he’s sitting here, looking more like a kicked puppy than an NHL star-on-the-rise. 

Curtis presses an elbow against Whits’ side. “What’s up, kid?” 

“Hmm?” Whits looks up, like he’d been lost in thought.

Curtis looks over to the other side of the bar, where a group of their teammates are talking to some local girls. “You could get in on that if you wanted.”

Whits looks over at them for a moment, then shrugs. “Not really feeling it, I guess.”

“You’re never feeling it,” Rolly mutters. He sets his beer down and gives Whits a calculating look. “Okay, I gotta ask.”

Whits freezes in place, beer glass almost at his lips. His eyes suddenly look a little wild. 

“Is Zimms like an actual hockey robot, or what?”

Whits blinks, then visibly relaxes. He sets his beer down. “Huh?”

“You hang out with him more than anyone else, right?” Whits nods, and Rolly continues, “Dude is like 110% hockey, 24/7. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t pick up, barely even fuckin’ smiles.”

Whits frowns a little, like he wants to argue. He doesn’t though, just stares back at Rolly. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Rolly says, and pauses to drain a quarter of his beer. “Zimms is like, the best fuckin’ center I’ve played with my whole career. We’re damn lucky to have him, but like, does the dude ever cut loose at all?”

Whits shrugs, traces his finger around the rim of his glass. “He’s got friends from college who are still around, and he does stuff with them sometimes.”

“He got a girlfriend?” Rolly asks. 

Whits shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.” 

“Then seriously, what’s his deal? First off, the guy looks like _that_ , is famous before he even gets here, and actually lives up to the hype. But the night he scores his first NHL hat trick, he’s got honnies hanging all over him and like, doesn’t give a shit? If he hasn’t got a girl somewhere he’s like inhumanly faithful to, then the whole thing’s just _wrong_.”

Whits’ expression shifts at that, from guarded to closed-off. Curtis recognizes it from last year, when the guys asked him about Dani. He’d always get uncharacteristically quiet and try to change the subject. Some of the guys thought he was making her up, but Curtis had overheard enough mushy phone calls to know she was real. And that Whits was really, really in love with her, so much that he hadn’t so much as looked at another chick all season. He’s a good-looking guy too, could’ve had his pick — still could. 

“Lay off, Rolly,” Curtis says, shooting him a look. “If Zimms wants to keep it private, we should respect that.”

“I’m just sayin’, he should be enjoying this shit while he can.”

“Jesus, Rolly, not everybody’s as big a horndog as you,” Whits says, rolling his eyes. 

“Says the guy who’s hanging out with the old-marrieds instead of picking up with the rest of them.” Rolly shakes his head. “Youth is fucking wasted on the young.”

“You’re like, six years older than me,” Whits says.

“That’s 30 more in hockey years,” Rolly replies. “Blink and you’ll be married with kids, and all the hot chicks will be just a memory.”

“Like you couldn’t pick up if you wanted to,” Whits says with a snort. 

“I like my balls where they’re currently located, thanks.”

Curtis snickers at that. Carrie has threatened it quite a few times, and would probably actually do it. “Dude, I remember our rookie year in the A. You’re lucky you didn’t catch a disease.”

Rolly flips him off, and Whits laughs. “At least I’ve got the memories. These two” —He gestures broadly at Whits, as if an imaginary Zimms is sitting next to him— “are wasting their best years right before our eyes. Issa fuckin’ tragedy.” He drains his beer, then leans back in the booth and belches so loudly that people turn and look.

“Can’t take him anywhere,” Curtis says to Whits. 

Whits picks up his beer and smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And okay, now Curtis is legit worried. With Zimms’ history and Whits’ recent romantic troubles, it’s probably not a good idea to leave those two to their own devices while the season’s revving up. He should spend more time with both of them in the next few weeks, make sure they’re doing as well off the ice as they are on it. 

“C’mon, rookie.” He reaches out to ruffle Whits’ hair. “Finish that beer so I can buy you another one for the goal you scored tonight.”

Whits ducks away from his hand. “M’ not a rookie anymore.”

“You’ll always be my rookie, babe. Deal with it.”

Whits grins and his cheeks go pink, and Curtis feels a little of the weight lift off his chest. 

“Fine,” Whits says, and takes a long drink. 

Curtis looks over at Rolly, who’s trying to covertly scratch his balls. Carrie puts up with a lot of shit, but still somehow loves the guy. Curtis likes him a lot, but he has no idea what she sees in him.

“You gettin’ the next round?” Rolly asks.

“Yep,” Curtis says, standing up. “Guess you deserve one for that huge block in the second.”

“Gotta a big fuckin’ bruise to show for it,” Rolly says, proudly.

Curtis is tempted to ruffle Rolly’s hair like he used to. There isn’t a heck of a lot left to ruffle anymore, though. He smiles. “Good stop, Rolls.”

He gets another round, and Whits is smiling when he gets back. It's a start.


	5. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14213578), Braden POV, Bitty/Braden, Bitty/Jack, rated M, 2100 words

“You don’t have to,” Eric says, frowning. 

“It’s like, your season opener,” Braden says. “That shit’s important, right?”

“You hate hockey.” Eric is still frowning, and Braden isn’t sure how to make him stop.

“I don’t hate it.” Braden shrugs. “I just, you know how the guys are, they’re all like super-jelly that the hockey team was hot last year, and they’ll give me shit if I act like I think it’s cool.”

The expression on Eric’s face indicates that didn’t help his case any.

“Fuck, no, I mean, like—” Braden pauses to gather his thoughts. He’s fucking this up, like usual.

He’s _trying_ , is the thing. And he won’t get credit for it, but seriously, he’s fucking trying to be a good boyfriend here. He even googled this shit, found some sweet advice on how to do it. (Locked the bathroom door and cleared his google history after, obvs, let the guys think he was in there jerking it to some super-kinky porn.) One of the things he read was to be “supportive,” so like, to act all interested in the things the other person is into. He can admit he’s been shit at that so far, but he’s working on it.

“It’s important to you, so, like… it’s important to me to be there to like support you and shit. You know?”

Eric’s face does something strange, like he ate a bug and feels guilty about it. “Braden, honey… Look, I appreciate it, but I know this isn’t your thing. And your house is having that big party that night, right? It’s important to do things like that with your teammates. It’s fine.”

And, like… shit. Braden doesn’t know what to say to that, because he was totally ready to not go to the party and all, had excuses thought up for the guys and everything. But once again, Eric’s out-boyfriended him. He’s really good at it, too. 

They’re alone in Eric’s room, so Braden doesn’t have to look around before leaning in to kiss him. Eric sighs against his mouth, then pulls him down on the bed and kisses him with serious intent. _Score_.

The night of Eric’s season opener comes, and Braden realizes after it’s way too late to do anything about it that he missed an opportunity. He could’ve done some kind of romantic shit, like left a note for Eric wishing him luck, at least. Maybe he could’ve come over early and given him a good-luck blowjob, even. Is that a hockey thing? That’s got to be a thing. 

He’s in the middle of his calc lecture when he realizes it’s actually an even more important day than the season opener, because today makes _six weeks_ that they’ve been dating. Well, six weeks since the day they first kissed, anyway, and Braden’s totally counting it. He’s not sure if Eric would, because Eric looks uncomfortable every time Braden tries to DTR and all, but that doesn’t matter. He’s boyfriending this shit up, romantic as fuck. Eric is gonna be impressed.

He thinks about it some more during Ancient Cultures. (He’s recording the lecture on his phone and the prof always posts her slides, so it’s not like he _really_ has to pay attention.) Six weeks is probably too big a number to throw at Eric. It’s really only been more like three weeks since they’ve been official? Eric got mad at him for something, and didn’t talk to him for like four whole days, even though Braden knows he saw the dick pics Braden sent. (Read receipts FTW.) 

On the fifth day, Braden texted him a picture of a sad-looking puppy with the caption _i miss u_ , and about an hour later Eric replied that he should come over. Braden had slung his backpack over his shoulder (told the guys he was going to study with a friend; they think he’s like some kind of nerd, but whatevs), walked two blocks down the street, turned right for a block, and then made his way up the alley behind the hockey Haus. From there he comes in the back gate by the dumpster and in through the back door. The hockey team guys kind of glare at him when he comes over, but he knows it’s because of the LAX thing and not the gay thing, so he just smiles back. 

Anyway, they hadn’t even talked about it that day, just made out for a long time, like so long Braden thought maybe his dick was gonna go untouched as some kind of punishment (that he probably deserved). But then Eric said he wanted Braden to fuck him, which — okay, Braden had already lost every other kind of virginity he had to Eric, but this was a big one. This was like, _real_ sex (though he’d never say that to Eric cause he knows he’d get a lecture about heteronormativity if he did; been there done that and learned to keep his mouth shut). Don’t get him wrong — BJs are great and all, and Eric’s like _really_ fucking good at giving head, but everyone knows that you haven’t really had sex until you put your dick into somebody else in a fucking kind of way. So for Braden, it was a really big deal.

He also had a vague idea that this could go wrong and like, fucking hurt, and he didn’t want to fuck up this otherwise awesome make-up sex. He was kind of nervous about it, but Eric had done, like, research or shit, which meant he’d been thinking about this and thinking about Braden, right? He told Braden where to put his fingers and when to add more lube, and it was kinda weird but also really hot. It took forever too, and by the time he actually got his dick into Eric, he was kinda overwhelmed. Like, he knew it would feel good? But he didn’t know it would feel like _that_ , that being inside someone else would make him feel like, connected to them and shit. He found out after that it was Eric’s first time too, which kind of sealed the deal for him: this was a _thing_. They were like, in a relationship, and it had happened without Braden really realizing it.

So he’d done research after that. Well, first he’d gone back to the LAX house and looked for Chad B. to get back, cause Chad B. always gave good advice. Chad A. was on the couch watching football, so Braden explained sort of vauguely that he’s got this friend who’s been hooking up with this chick and kinda wanted to date her but wasn’t sure how you level up? Chad A. was all, “Bro this is why google was invented,” and Braden was like, “Duh, why didn’t I think of that, I mean, why didn’t my friend lol,” and Chad A. was like, “Bro, this is why I’m a senior,” and Braden gave him a fistbump and said “Good talk.” 

The point is, Braden has spent more time studying how to be in a relationship than he has any of the classes he’s actually taking this semester. He’s gonna do this right.

So the night of the Samwell Men’s Hockey season opener comes, and despite the fact that the rest of the student body is apparently going, Braden’s not. Eric told him not to, and not to worry about the kegster afterward either, because it was just gonna be a small team thing, and Braden would just feel weird about being there. They can get together the next day, no big deal. 

So of course, it’s kind of a surprise when Braden’s scrolling through his insta feed in the middle of the party (Chad Z. keeps trying to set him up with this sorority chick and Braden’s hiding from her in the kitchen) and finds out that _Jack Zimmermann_ is at the game tonight. Eric hadn’t said a fucking _word_ about Jack coming, though like, he talks about Jack pretty much nonstop otherwise. Jack doesn’t even go here anymore, is like some big shot NHL star (Braden has watched a few games, okay? He knows Jack’s a BFD) who also happens to have been one of Eric’s best friends last year. And Eric clearly has a huge fucking crush on the guy, despite the fact that he’s literally like a superstar professional athlete and therefore totally straight. 

It wouldn’t be so weird except that Eric talks about the dude like, all the time. Jack said this and Jack did that, and oh my god did you hear that Jack is like the most amazing person ever? He texts and Skypes with him constantly too, and, look — Braden’s not stupid. He knows that Eric has feelings for Jack, has had them for a while. The thing Eric doesn’t see, though is that Jack is totally stringing him along. Jack lets Eric fawn all over him, but it’s never gonna happen, and for whatever reason, Jack’s not telling Eric that. Maybe he likes the attention, or something (like he couldn’t get all the attention he wants from one of the hundreds of girls who hold posters up during his games, basically begging to let them sit on his dick). It’s fucking _mean_ is what it is, and the more Braden hears about Jack, the more he hates the guy.

So Jack’s going to the game, and he’s probably coming to the kegster after, and _that_ is probably why Eric told Braden not to come. He doesn’t want Braden there so he can spend a night sitting in Jack Zimmermann’s lap and pretending Jack might actually let Eric suck his dick one day. Zimmermann might even let him do it, too, just for the hell of it. He probably doesn’t even care.

God, Braden really hates that guy.

He’s pissed, so he drinks too much at the LAX house party, enough that it seems like a really good idea to walk across the street (no winding route this time) and look this asshole in the eye. He’s gonna find Jack and he’s gonna tell him to stay away from Eric, and Eric is gonna see that Braden is the one who really gives a shit about him. 

That’s not how it goes.

It turns out that confronting your boyfriend’s famous BFF/crush while you’re totally shit-faced is a pretty bad idea. He not only made an ass of himself in front of the famous Jack Zimmermann (the dickwad just smirked at him the whole time, seriously _fuck_ that guy), but he really pissed Eric off too. Like, he fucked up. 

“You didn’t tell me he was gonna be here,” he snarls when Eric leads him to the door, more angry at himself than anything else.

Eric’s face hardens even more. “Of course he was gonna be here, it’s the season opener! He was the captain last year.”

“This is why you didn’t want me to come, right? You wanted to flirt with him and pretend like maybe he’ll fuck you one day.”

Eric winces, looks like he’s gritting his teeth. “We’re not talking about this while you’re drunk. Go home, Braden.” He doesn’t even sound pissed anymore, just tired. Like maybe that one hit close to home. He tugs Braden’s arm toward the door.

Braden jerks out of his grip. “Fine. Go on, get on your knees for him and see how that goes for you. I don’t give a shit.” 

He crosses the street again, slips back in the LAX house without anyone noticing, and walks up the stairs to the room he shares with two other guys. There’s a sock on the door knob, of course, and lots of noise coming from the other side. He tries the bathroom, but that’s occupied too. There’s a storage closet in the hall, one that’s just big enough for him to wedge himself into. He presses his forehead against the closet door and wills himself not to cry. 

He’d tried to explain, but he was too angry and drunk, and he couldn’t get the words out in the way he’d wanted, the way that made it clear he cares about Eric and just wants to be with him. Eric’s expression floats in front of his eyes again, all disappointment and embarrassment. Eric was embarrassed that Braden had come, that he’d talked to Jack while he was that fucked up, and that… that stings, he’s not gonna lie. 

But that’s on him, and he gets it. He’s gonna be better, because Eric deserves better. Eric is a great guy, and Braden’s gonna level up this boyfriend shit, knock it out of the park.

He’s gonna make Eric forget all about Jack Zimmermann. You just watch.


	6. Whittmann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14293159), in-universe fandom reacts to that pic of Jack and Whits that Bitty posted to Twitter, Jack/Whits rpf, rated T, 800 words

_Tumblr post by notanangel, Monday, 26 October, 2015:_

**notanangel**

THAT TWITTER PIC THO [hearteyes emoji]

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**iggynacious**

YES. I saw that and you were literally the first person I thought of [cryinglaughing emoji]

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**5theo5**

It’s always exciting to watch a new ship set sail

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

I am SO. HERE. FOR. THIS. Give me all your Zimmermann/Whitton recs. What are we calling this one? Whittmann? Zimmerton? *grabby hands*

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**firstthingsfirth**

I got u bb! There’s not a lot for this ship yet, but here are some of my faves:

green green grass by wrathwrite, rated E, 2500 words. Summary: Playing with Jack Zimmermann is one thing, but rooming with him on the road is something else altogether. (This one’s a great character study, with some really yummy voyeurism and mutual masturbation thrown in. HOT, like basically everything wrathwrite writes.)

if it was you by 125jam, rated T, 3000 words. Summary: Jack didn’t expect to fall so hard for Taylor. (Piiiiining and angst, but so good! Hopeful ending.)

for the right price by orphan_account, rated E, 8500 words. Summary: He’s leaning against the grimy brick wall, face in shadow, but the harsh light from the streetlamp doesn’t hide anything else. (Rentboy AU! Jack’s a closeted NHL player and Taylor is a down-on-his-luck prostitute, and holy hell this one is hot!)

Easy Peasey by lolasnothere, rated M, 5000 words. Summary: “Brojobs aren’t a thing,” Taylor says. Jack laughs, that sly grin sliding higher on his face. “I thought you went to college.” (If you’re into the broning trope, then this fic will hit ALL your buttons. It’s even got friends-to-lovers and accidental bed-sharing, like it was written with me in mind!)

We’re about to get hit with a wave of glorious new fics and I cannot WAIT 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**tjmoppett**

*shifty eyes* I may be writing something right now? If I can get it done quick, Jaz said they could beta for me tonight, so hopefully I’ll post it soon!

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **notanangel**

PLEASE tell me it’s smutty? You write the BEST FILTH. [blushy face]  
Thanks so much for the recs, @firstthingsfirth!

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**tjmoppett**

Hey, you know me! Haha, yeah, it’s basically porn. BTW I totally second the rec up above for if “it was you” - that one is sooooo fucking angsty but also really satisfying? 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
**imtheficfairy**

@tjmoppett I’m so excited to read this! 

That pic is KILLING me and I may have to write something. Taylor’s HAIR? Jack’s little smile? And they way they’re so fucking close together, like seriously, what do they expect us to think?

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

OMG did y’all see that KENT PARSON not only liked that pic, but replied with “Feel the bromance” ??? I’m DEAD. I’m replying from the grave. Goodbye all, it was nice knowing you.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**firstthingsfirth**

Parse is such a fucking troll, omg! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. Oooooh, wait - has anyone written this as an OT3 yet? [hearteyes]

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**wrathwrite**

Well now I HAVE to write that! Holy shit, yes. So much pretty in one place… When do the Aces play the Falcs again?

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

Falcs @ Aces November 16, so a few weeks away. But you know we all love your AUs right???

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 **wrathwrite**

Thanks! I’ve got an idea, but I think I want to wait on that one to write once we see how the game goes. But in the meantime, I’ve got something else in mind for those three… hmmm.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**imtheficfairy**

If these two do a joint Halloween costume I will combust on the spot. CAN YOU IMAGINE?

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

YES! Though they’re on the road on Halloween, playing the Blues, I think? So they might not have a chance. [sadface emoji]

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**5theo5**

So wait who posted that pic in the first place? How do they know Jack and Taylor?

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

Looks like it was one of Jack’s college teammates? Apparently they were Skyping and Taylor just HAPPENED to be there, hanging out with Jack? Tho the caption makes it look like this guy considers Taylor a friend too.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**5theo5**

Oooooh so does this mean we can assume Taylor has met Jack’s college friends? And they apparently approve???

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**imtheficfairy**

Taylor went to the Samwell season opener with Jack a couple of weeks ago and there were photos on insta of them at a frat party afterwards, so I think yes!

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**notanangel**

Those. Pics. I cannot with these two. [hearteyes] 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

#providence falconers #hockey rpf #whittmann #it practically ships itself #now with RECS #jack zimmermann #taylor whitton #these boys I SWEAR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! I haven't had time to reply to any of them yet, but please do know grateful I am to get them! 
> 
> I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep up this chapter-a-day pace, but we'll see. :)


	7. Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** set during [chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14440549), Bitty POV of the post-Flyers phone call with Jack, Bitty/Jack, rated E, 2100 words

Bitty watches the game against the Flyers with everyone at the Haus. He perches on the arm of the awful green couch (he still refuses to sit on it, ew) and works his way through three beers, one for each tense period. 

“Fuck yeah, Rollins, that’s right,” Holster says, when the gloves get dropped at the beginning of the third. 

Ransom whistles. “Damn, look at that uppercut. Oh shit, he’s got him, look!”

Rollins gets Thompson’s feet out from under him and presses his face into the ice, and the refs step in. There’s a quick shot of Jack on the screen, his expression tight, mouthguard clenched between his teeth. Bitty’s stomach tightens a little. 

The Falcs pull the game out in the end, and everyone is revved up after, discussing the play and cracking open even more beers. It’s not quite a party, but it’s not far from it, considering it’s a Tuesday night and they’ve got a 6:00 am practice. 

Ransom and Holster are the main instigators, so they’ll only have themselves to blame in the morning. Bitty thinks about the disapproving looks Jack would have given them all, and smiles ruefully.

He misses Jack, in so many ways. It’s been months since Jack lived here, was part of this team, but every day there’s something that reminds Bitty of him. He taps out a quick text to Jack, just checking in, and puts his phone away. It’ll probably be a while before Jack has a chance to reply.

He’s mid-yawn half an hour later and thinking of heading to bed when his phone buzzes in his hand.

 **Jack:** _Can you talk?_

Bitty blinks at his phone. They’ve been texting a lot after games, but Jack hasn’t suggested a phone call in a while. He says his goodnights and heads upstairs, and can’t help feeling a little smug: all the guys are downstairs talking about how great Jack played tonight, but Bitty is the one Jack wants to talk to. It makes his head spin a little, that this is his life.

He settles on his bed and calls Jack.

“Hey,” he hears after two rings. Jack sounds exhausted.

“Oh my god, that was horrifying. I mean, you were great, but they were going after you hard. What the hell?”

Jack reassures him that it’s all fine, that _he’s_ fine, but Bitty hates watching it get ugly. He threatens to send poisoned cookies to the Flyers’ locker room, which gets a chuckle out of Jack. “Aw, you’d do that for me?” 

“Oh, honey. You just say the word.” Bitty winces the moment the words leave his mouth. That sounded way more fond than he intended. He’s gonna blame the beers he drank tonight. Maybe Jack is so worn out he won’t notice. 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jack says, and yawns. 

“Tired?”

“Yeah. I’ve been sleeping like shit. I need to rest up for Boston on Thursday.”

Bitty groans. “It’s killing me that I can’t be there.” He’s got an early econ exam, though, and he needs the time to study for it. He probably won’t even be able to watch the game on TV. (He shouldn’t. Hell, he probably will anyway.)

“I know. Thanksgiving is next week, though.”

Bitty smiles — he’s got so many plans. He’s been saving up fine money (the new frogs are still learning the rules), and he’s even got the huge turkey in the freezer downstairs. “Are you still coming to the Haus?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. You should come back to Providence with me after.”

Bitty’s eyes widen at that. Is Jack inviting him _alone_? That’s… that sounds like something Bitty simultaneously wants desperately and also really does not need to subject himself to. 

“Should I?” he asks, hedging a little, making sure Jack meant it, that it wasn’t just his exhaustion talking.

“You could stay the weekend if you want, go to the game on Saturday.”

 _Lord_. This boy has no idea what he’s doing. Bitty lets himself imagine it for a moment, thinks about what it would be like to spend a weekend with Jack, hanging around his apartment, going to the game, making breakfast in the morning… It’s so fucking domestic and so close to what Bitty wants that it hurts.

He yawns, and tries his best to sound casual. “I’d probably have to come home Sunday morning. I have a project due the next week that I haven’t even started on.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Jack yawns again, sounding even more tired now. “I could get you up early that morning to run with me, then drive you back.”

Bitty wonders if Jack is in bed, maybe just in his boxers. The idea that he’s curled up, warm and sleepy, and talking to Bitty like they just… Bitty shivers a little. “Only if I can make breakfast first.”

“Deal.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment, so long that Bitty starts to wonder if Jack fell asleep. It occurs to him that he doesn’t hear anyone else in the room with Jack. 

“Are you alone right now?” 

“Yeah. Whits hooked up, so he ditched me.” 

Bitty leans back against the pillows on his bed, heart beating a little faster. Jack is alone in a hotel room, probably in bed, and talking to Bitty. Lord have mercy.

“I’m gonna have to have a talk with that boy.” 

“Leave him alone. He’s finally rebounding from his breakup.” 

“Well, good for him, then.” He thinks about Taylor in a bathroom somewhere, pressing an anonymous guy up against the wall. Maybe he’ll text Bitty the deets later, like he said he would when Bitty told him he’d have to live vicariously through Taylor’s exploits. Bitty’s not even sure a lot of anonymous sex is something he particularly wants, but he can’t help finding the idea kinda hot. Especially since he’s not going to be having any kind of sex anytime soon.

“Speaking of breakups, guess who’s single again?”

“How did he take it?” Bitty can hear the smirk in Jack’s voice, and he can’t help the little spark of hope that rises in his chest. He’s had enough to drink that he can’t squash it back down, doesn’t even want to try. His hand slides down his belly, palm flat over the bulge in his sweats.

“He pretended he didn’t care, like usual.” That’s not exactly true, but Bitty doesn’t want to think about it right now.

“So are we happy or sad about it?” Jack sounds like he’s very happy about it, which… lord, why is this Bitty’s life?

“Happy, maybe?” He squeezes his fingers, tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric, and sighs. “I mean, I guess I could be getting my dick sucked right now instead of talking on the phone to an NHL star, but whatever.”

Jack goes completely quiet on the other end. Bitty grits his teeth: he’s making Jack uncomfortable, and this is going to end badly.

“Ummm…” Jack says, and Bitty says, “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s… fine.” Jack’s voice is low, almost rough, and there’s a hesitance to it that Bitty hasn’t heard before. He hears Jack take a shaky breath, then say, “Keep talking.” 

Holy shit.

He’s reading this wrong. He has to be, because there’s no way Jack meant that to sound nearly as filthy as it did. 

Bitty will blame the beer later, but right now he doesn’t stop to think about it before he slips a hand under the waistband of his sweats. “I guess there are some things I’m gonna miss about him.” 

“Like what?”

Oh _god_ — Jack is really going there; he has to be. Bitty wraps his fingers and his dick and strokes upward, slowly. “Like his mouth. I mean…” Bitty hesitates. It’s going to become really obvious what he’s doing if this keeps going, and he needs to make sure he’s not, like, taking advantage of Jack here. “Are you sure I’m not freaking you out right now?”

Jack doesn’t answer the question. “Was he any good at it?”

Bitty laughs a little, because this whole situation is really fucking unbelievable. “Are you asking for deets?”

“No... Well, maybe.” His voice dips even lower, and Bitty’s suddenly so hard he aches. 

He stroke himself again, fingers tightening just under the head, and spreads his knees to give himself a little more room. “He was okay. I mean, I don’t know if there’s really such a thing as a bad blow job, but…”

“If you say so,” Jack says, a little breathless, and _oh god_.

Bitty’s never heard Jack talk about sex, ever. He usually looks sort of constipated and changes the subject as quickly as possible. Bitty doesn’t know what’s happening here, if Jack is on the other end of the line with a hand around himself too, but the idea that he might be is incredible, and Bitty’s hand is moving now, enough that— 

“It’s late,” Jack says, and there’s that note of awkwardness at last. “I should probably go brush my teeth and get out of these clothes before I fall asleep in them.”

Bitty’s hand stops on himself — was he that obvious? Did Jack figure out what was happening and get uncomfortable? Oh, lord, he probably did. Shit.

He pulls his hand out of his pants. “Are you implying I’m boring?”

“Never,” Jack says, and his voice is warm, even fond and almost… 

No. Bitty’s not going to let himself think that.

“Can I call you back in a few minutes?” Jack asks. His tone is almost strained, which is weird. Maybe Taylor came back early?

“Sure,” Bitty replies, and Jack ends the call without another word. 

Bitty clutches his phone to his chest and stares up at the ceiling. He has no idea what just happened there. He could swear that he and Jack were on the same page for a moment. He’d really thought... but no, it was just Bitty’s imagination gone wild, fueled by a few beers and his own misplaced feelings. He was reading too much into Jack’s exhaustion, hearing what he wanted to hear. 

His erection is almost gone now, flagged by the combination of embarrassment and disappointment. And he really does need to brush his teeth. He gets up and heads to the bathroom.

He’s honestly not expecting Jack to call him back, but he does a handful of minutes later. Bitty’s back in bed, scrolling through twitter, when the phone rings. 

He smiles and touches _answer_. “Feel better?”

Jack makes a very strange sound on the other end of the line. “Yeah… my teeth were gross.”

“Mine too,” Bitty says, honestly. 

“Tell me about the team,” Jack prompts, “what’s been going on at practice.”

Bitty grins, even though he knows Jack can’t see him. “Aw, do you need a bedtime story?” 

“Maybe. I might fall asleep on you, but tell me anyway.” 

Bitty does, talks to him about everything he can think of, all the little details he knows Jack likes to hear, will find soothing. Jack’s breathing is quiet and rhythmic.

“You still there?” he asks, gently in case Jack really is asleep.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He sounds like he’s half-asleep, and Bitty wishes more than anything he could be with him right now. Sleepy Jack is one of his favorites.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I am now,” Jack says, his voice so soft and fond that Bitty’s heart actually hurts. 

Why does he do this to himself? Why does he let himself think Jack feels the same way about him, when he so obviously doesn’t? Jack considers Bitty a good friend, and Bitty can’t let himself hope for anything else. He lets himself feel hope and then get hurt, over and over again. It was easier in some ways, when Jack was here. Lots of things were.

“I miss you,” he says, before he can stop himself. Ugh, mouth, why.

“You’re gonna see me next week.”

“It’s not the same as you living across the hall.” He should really stop digging this hole he’s standing in. He should. 

“I know.” Jack sounds sad, and it feels like he said _I miss you too_. Bitty’s going to hold on to that, even though it feels like a punch to the gut.

He closes his eyes. Time to end this before it hurts any more. “Go to sleep, Jack.”

Jack yawns, the sound turning into something like a sigh. “Goodnight, Bittle.”

Bitty plugs in his phone, turns his face into the pillow, and hopes he doesn’t feel awful about this in the morning. He’s not very hopeful.


	8. Texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Text messages between Bitty and others over the course of a few days, during chapters [7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14440549) and [8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14510050), Whits/others, rated M, 1700 words

**Text messages on Bitty’s phone, November 10, 2015:**

**Taylor:** Sooooo you wanted deets?

 **Me:** omg [blushy emoji]  
Yeah sure okay

 **Taylor:** Picked up in a bar in Philly last night. [eggplant emoji]  
Guy was cute, knew who I was, so I had to get an NDA signed.

 **Me:** [shocked face emoji] That sounds pretty awkward???

 **Taylor:** Yeah, a little, but I told him that was the deal and he was chill.  
So he came over to me at the bar and basically just propositioned me?  
Like straight up said sweet goal in the 3rd bro can I suck your dick? [smirky face]

 **Me:** People do that?? [crying laughing emoji]

 **Taylor:** Yes, Eric Bittle. Yes, they do. [nerd emoji]

 **Me:** Fuck you, Taylor Whitton. [angel emoji]

 **Taylor:** I thought we’d hit the bathroom but then he said he lived nearby and his roommate was out for the night, so we went to his place.

 **Me:** Oh my lord I would’ve been terrified 

**Taylor:** Really?

 **Me:** Well not if I was you prbly. You’re a big scary hockey player.

 **Taylor:** [blushy face]  
But really you’d be scared to go to a guy’s apt like that?

 **Me:** Absolutely. Have you seen me?  
Oh hey I have lecture now but THIS CONVO IS NOT OVER  
[winky face]

 **Taylor:** lol okay I’ll just fill you in on the details while you’re in lecture  
So we get to his apartment, and it’s kind of a shithole really  
But he didn’t seem to care, just asked me if I wanted a drink  
And I was like bro, I’ve got curfew, so we need to get to it  
Then he said okay then and dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the living room  
He started saying stuff like he’d always wanted to blow a pro athlete, which was weird but also kinda hot to know he was so into it?  
Like it’s weird to be someone’s fantasy?  
Anyway he wanted me to fuck his face and choke him  
I have never done that before so it was a little freaky. 

**Me:** OMG I should not have looked at this during lecture  
He wanted you to choke him like with your hands? 

**Taylor:** No with my dick. Like down his throat. 

**Me:** !!!  
You should see my face right now. Girl next to me thinks I’m having a seizure.  
So DID YOU?

 **Taylor:** I guess? I was kinda afraid too do it much tho  
I don’t like it when somebody does that to me, yanno? I like to be in control when I’m going down.

 **Me:** Full same. That freaks me out.  
Oh my god I can’t believe we’re having this conversation when I should be listening to a lecture.

 **Taylor:** What class?  
If it’s too much lmk and I’ll stop. I just don’t have anyboy else to talk to this shit about.  
*anyBODY lol

 **Me:** Stats  
And no it’s fine. I totally get it. I don’t really have anyone else either. [shrug emoji]

 **Taylor:** Not even Zimms?

 **Me:** [crying laughing emoji]  
Yeah no. I love that boy to death but this is not really his thing

 **Taylor:** Yeah I got that impression  
That you LOVE HIM, I mean [smirky face]

 **Me:** Haha  
He’s one of my best friends  
We were linemates and all

 **Taylor:** Uh huh

 **Me:** I’ve got to listen to this lecture now TTYL?

 **Taylor:** Okay, cool  
And sorry, I didn’t mean to push  
Zimms really likes you tho  
I assume you know that, but he talks about you ALL the time

 **Me:** Yeah well, when I talk to him he talks about you, so what does that say?

 **Taylor:** That he’s got good taste? [sunglasses emoji]  
Okay gotta head to the airport now  
Should I tell him you said hi?

 **Me:** No, I’ll text him. Have a good flight! Wish I could be there tomorrow night.  
Econ test though

 **Taylor:** Ugh, sorry.  
Hey, lmk if you have any more stats questions. It’s been a few years, but I could try to help.

 **Me:** I probably will. TY!

***

**November 12, 2015**

**Me (to Jack):** You okay?

 **Me (to Taylor):** That game looked awful. Fuck Boston.

 **Taylor:** That fucking sucked  
But at least we’re leaving tonight  
Dallas!  
I get to see my mom [heart emoji]

 **Me (to Taylor):** Aw, are you a mama’s boy too?  
Is Jack okay? We usually text after games and he seems to need to talk about losses.  
He hasn’t answered me yet.

 **Taylor:** My mom is the only woman I’ll ever love.  
He’s sitting next to me on the bus looking sad. Want me to poke him?

 **Jack:** Not really. But I have to get on a plane to Dallas in an hour and try to get some sleep. Not much time to dwell.

 **Me (to Taylor):** lol he just texted me back.  
Poor baby.  
Okay so I have a job for you. You are on Jack Duty tonight.

 **Taylor:** ?

 **Me (to Jack):** [sadface emoji]

 **Me (to Taylor):** Just like talk to him, get him out of his own head, you know?  
Tell him a bedtime story, whatever.

 **Taylor:** Okaaaaay so I told him I was on Jack Duty and now he’s pissed at me?  
He’s literally mad that you and I are texting each other and he didn’t know about it.

 **Me (to Taylor):** Really?  
Why would he be pissed about that?

 **Taylor:** Prbly because he’s a possessive asshole who doesn’t want to share his friends  
Sorry  
That wasn’t fair  
But he really is mad at me

Hello?

 **Me (to Taylor):** Sorry, just trying to figure out what to do here

 **Me (to Jack):** Hope the flight goes well  
Sorry again about the loss

 **Me (to Taylor):** Sorry  
I feel like I’ve fucked things up  
I didn’t think Jack would care if we were friends  
I don’t understand why he’s acting like that  
You spend more time with him now than I do anyway

 **Taylor:** It’ll blow over  
He’s being a dick but that’s just how he is sometimes right?  
Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you two

 **Me (to Taylor):** It’s not your fault  
Jack just gets bitchy when he loses

 **Taylor:** Yeah no kidding  
I’ll smooth it over when we get on the plane

 **Me (to Taylor):** Good luck  
And have a good flight  
Can’t wait to see pics of you two in Dallas! [horse][cactus][sun]

***

**November 13, 2015**

**SMH group chat**

 **Ransom:** Jack, bro

 **Holster:** Brooooooo  
Bruh for srs r u trying to make us all look bad  
Cuz it’s working

 **Chowder:** Hey! What are you guys talking about? What did Jack do?  
Oh wait nm  
Wow, Jack, you look like you’re having fun in Dallas! Is it really warm enough to swim?  
It must be because you’re swimming lol

 **Dex:** I need to put on sunglasses to even look at that pic  
Jack you do not see much sun do you

 **Ransom:** Bruh that pic is going viral on Twitter  
Don’t read the comments lol  
No actually do they’re fucking hysterical

 **Holster:** Bits, u seeing this?

 **Me:** Yep

*

**Me (to Jack):L** [exclamation point emoji x 23] 

**Me (to Taylor):** I canNOT with you two 

**Jack:** [winky face] 

**Taylor:** Don’t be jelly 

**Me (to Taylor):** Too late [blushy face]  
But you have to know what it looks like 

**Taylor:** To you, sure  
But trust me, the rest of the world is too heteronormative to care  
I could kiss Jack and they’d all be “what great buddies, look at the line chemistry” lmao 

**Me (to Taylor):** I would make you a lot of pie to see that  
I’m just sayin 

**Taylor:** [kiss emoji] 

*** 

**November 15, 2015**

**Me:** Jack said you hooked up in Dallas last night  
So I’m waiting for my deets, Mr Whitton

 **Taylor:** Lol when did he tell you that?

 **Me:** When we were skyping last night  
While YOU were hooking up

 **Taylor:** You do that a lot with Jack huh?

 **Me:** Don’t change the subject  
DEETS [eggplant emoji]  
I hope you’re using protection, mister

 **Taylor:** [umbrella emoji] [splash emoji]

 **Me:** SO?

 **Taylor:** I can give you deets but I can’t say who it was

 **Me:** O RLY  
OMG wait  
Is that because it was one of the Dallas Stars?  
Are you for fucking serious??? [shocked face]  
It was Seguin, wasn’t it  
Did you fuck Tyler Seguin???  
Taylor Jacob Whitton YOU ANSWER ME!!!

 **Taylor:** [zipped lips emoji]  
You want deets, you gotta stop asking who  
Cause I’m not going to tell you

 **Me:** Fine but I’ll be picturing Seguin in my head the whole time [blushy face]

 **Taylor:** So I will say that this guy’s mouth was unbelievable  
Dick smaller than I expected but he had really great hands  
Like have you ever come just from being fingered?  
I hadn’t until last night holy shit

 **Me:** I am DYING here  
And no, I haven’t - I didn’t know that was possible?

 **Taylor:** Me either lol  
So anyway it was very educational [nerd emoji]

 **Me:** Lord have mercy  
You sure are getting an education  
Promise me you’ll only use this knowledge for good

 **Taylor:** [winky face]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to format this all nice, but it quickly became clear what a PITA that would be (and also might not translate well to e-readers), so here is the more basic-looking version.
> 
> Also, I could swear I had already given Whits a middle name somewhere but I did a search of all the stories and couldn't find anything. So if I actually did do that before and someone remembers where, please let me know!
> 
> Thanks as always for your lovely comments! Sorry I'm not able to reply right now - it's either reply or write. But I am grateful! <3


	9. Parse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set at the end of [chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14599180), Whits POV, Whits/Parse first time, rated E, 3500 words

Taylor glances at his phone. _I’m heading out_ , Zimms has texted. 

Taylor looks across the bar, but doesn’t see him anywhere. He does see Beaulieu at the bar, talking with some girls, but Zimms is nowhere in sight. Taylor swallows back a grin and quickly taps out a reply: _OK if I stay?_

“Everything okay?” Parse asks, leaning back in his chair. He’s not even looking at Taylor right now, apparently focused on his rookie at the bar.

“Zimms is calling it a night,” Taylor says. His phone buzzes with a reply from Zimms about not missing the bus in the morning. Taylor tucks his phone in his pocket.

“Is he always such a lightweight?” Parse turns the weight of his gaze back to Taylor. His eyes are gray, maybe — Taylor can’t really tell in the dim light. 

“Pretty much.” Taylor leans back too, smirking a little. “He’s not into this kind of scene. I’m still shocked he came out tonight.”

“Yeah?” Parse looks intrigued, and Taylor feels a stab of guilt. He shouldn’t be talking about Zimms like this with Parse. There’s some sort of weird history between them, though Taylor hasn’t got a clue what it is. “Last time I saw him, he was drinking up at a frat party with that cute blond liney of his hanging all over him.”

Taylor tucks that interesting bit of information away for later, and shrugs. “He’s all hockey all the time, these days.” He takes another sip of his drink and looks at Parse over the rim of the glass. 

He’s pretty sure he knows where this is headed tonight. Or fuck, he _hopes_ that’s where it’s headed. They’ve been not-so-subtly flirting for the last hour, and Taylor’s half-hard in his suit pants already at the very idea that he might be about to hook up with Kent Parson, number one draft pick, Calder winner, Stanley Cup champion, and currently having a season that has him shortlisted for the Art Ross in fucking November. He’s barely older than Taylor and already a legend. Sucking his dick has to be like, good luck or something. 

Taylor really wants to suck his dick.

“I really want to suck your dick,” he says, leaning in close enough that no one else will hear.

Parse just smirks in response. “Let’s go.”

***

Parse lives in what looks like a resort. The drive in winds through beautiful desert landscaping punctuated by well-lit palm trees. He gets a glimpse of a huge, multi-level pool in the middle of a set of buildings that blend artfully with their surroundings.

The taxi drops them off outside one of the buildings, by a large glass door that opens into a marbled lobby. They head upstairs to a dimly-lit hallway. Parse fumbles for his keys, then opens an ornate wooden door and gestures Taylor through. 

His apartment is huge, probably taking up much of the second floor. It looks like it was professionally decorated, more like a model home in a magazine than a place where one person lives. There’s a set of sliding glass doors on the opposite side that open onto a huge, well-appointed balcony. The Strip is visible in the distance, and the night-lit pool is below. A large jacuzzi is currently occupied by a couple making out. 

“Wow,” Taylor says, unable to stay chill at the sight of it all. “I feel like I’m a a beach resort.”

“That’s basically what it is, minus the ocean.” Parse takes off his shoes and heads into the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

Taylor does, but he’s already had quite a few. He’s also aware of the time. He’s going to miss curfew as it is, and there’s only so much Zimms can do to cover for him if someone actually comes looking. 

“I think I offered a blow job.” He tries for a smug expression. 

“Yeah, okay,” Parse says. He pulls a bottle of Gatorade out of the fridge and tosses it to Taylor, then gets a second one for himself. “But hydrate first.” 

He sounds weirdly like Zimms in that moment, enough that Taylor can’t stop himself from laughing.

“What, it’s important.” Parse drains half of his and sets the bottle on the kitchen’s large granite bar. He crosses to sit on the huge cream-colored leather sectional that dominates the living room, stretches his arms along the back of the sofa on either side, and lets his thighs fall open. “Whenever you’re ready, bro.”

Taylor’s mouth goes weirdly dry. He opens the bottle and takes a few long drinks, mostly to stop himself from stumbling face-first into Parse’s crotch. Because he would totally do that, non-beauty move. 

He sets the bottle on the glass coffee table, then goes to his knees right in front of Parse, slides his hands up Parse’s thighs. He has to take a moment to soak it all in: he’s here, about to hook up with a guy whose autograph he’d kind of like to get, which is just wild. He’s trying not to be starstruck, but it’s hard at the moment.

It’s not the only thing that’s hard: Parse’s dick is pressing up against the front of his suit pants, leaning to the right. The fabric is stretched so thin that Taylor kind of wants to put his mouth over it. He won’t, though, because he’s pretty sure these pants are worth more than a month’s rent. He takes a good long look instead, traces the line of Parse’s dick with his thumbs, then looks up at him and wets his lips with his tongue.

“Fuck, look at you,” Parse says. He reaches forward and tangles his fingers in Taylor’s hair. He tightens his grip a little, tilting Taylor’s head up, and— 

_Ohhhh_ , wow. That’s… Taylor is suddenly, completely hard.

“You really want my dick, don’t you?” Parse says, and Taylor nods, maybe even makes an embarrassing sound. “C’mere.”

He tilts Taylor’s head up, leans down to kiss him. It’s a scorching kind of kiss, one that leaves Taylor feeling like he’s floating. It’s measured, precise, everything that Taylor likes, and it’s over as quickly as it started. 

He does whimper at that, and he’s beyond caring.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Parse says, lips moving across Taylor’s cheek, down to his throat. He pauses to bite, and Taylor leans into it. “God, I could eat you alive.” He sits back, pushes Taylor’s head down. “And if you’re very good, maybe I will.”

So. The thing is, Taylor has never really liked being told what to do in bed. The idea of it, of someone putting him where they want him and making him stay there while they do whatever they like — that’s never something he’s found appealing. But right now, right here? Holy _fuck_ , it’s hot. All he wants to do right now is whatever Parse tells him to, exactly like he tells him. Nothing else even seems important.

He unfastens Parse’s belt, then his pants. He starts to tug them down, but Parse stops him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Nah, I want it like this. You, though — you should be naked.”

 _Christ._

Taylor sits back and unbuttons his shirt, tries to fold it carefully enough that the walk of shame he’ll do later won’t be too obvious. He stands and strips out of his pants and underwear, takes his socks off. The whole time, Parse sits there and watches him, thighs spread, fully clothed except for his cock jutting up from his open fly. Taylor feels incredibly exposed, almost vulnerable. It should feel weird, or uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. 

Parse gives him a long look from head to toe, then reaches for one of the throw pillows. He tosses it on the floor in front of him and grins. “Condoms are in the box behind you. Pick a flavor, then come back down here and show me what you can do.”

Taylor almost laughs, but he wasn’t joking. The carved wooden box on the glass table behind him is actually full of condoms, and they really are flavored. He picks one at random before he can get too flustered, then drops to his knees. The cushion is appreciated, especially with the hardwood floors, and it gives Taylor the impression that Parse isn’t in a hurry. That’s fine, because Taylor isn’t either. He may never get the chance to do this again, so he’s gonna give Kent Parson the best damn blow job of his life.

The condom tuns out to be vanilla flavored, which gives him a moment’s pause, because this feels like the least vanilla thing he’s ever done. He rolls it on with his mouth, which gets a hiss out of Parse, along with an impressed raise of eyebrows. 

He intends to take his time, to figure out what Parse likes along the way, but that’s not how it goes. Parse is very talkative, it turns out, and very specific about what he likes: “Yeah, use your tongue right there… fuck, yeah, suck it… just the head… harder… How deep can you take it, can you… oh, fuck, baby, your throat is so tight…” It’s almost like listening to a live porn feed, and Taylor can’t believe he’s finding it so hot. 

He uses his hands a lot too, mostly to pet Taylor’s hair and hold it back out of his face so he can see what Taylor’s mouth is doing. He touches Taylor’s cheek (”Fuck, look at that”), his throat (”I can actually feel my cock in you, fuck, that’s hot”), and his lips where they’re stretched around him (”Your mouth is fucking perfect, like it was made for this, fuck”). He pulls Taylor back when he gets close, twice, and just when Taylor’s jaw is aching to the point that he’s not sure how much longer he can go, Parse pulls him off completely. 

“I really want to fuck you,” he says, fingers not-quite-gentle in Taylor’s hair. 

“Fuck yeah,” Taylor says, and before he can sit back on his heels, Parse kisses him again. Taylor’s mouth is wet and feels used, and he’s sure his hair looks kind of wild from Parse’s hands in it. 

Parse sits back and looks at him again. There’s a strange expression on his face, something almost soft, but it’s gone again before Taylor can be sure he saw it at all. He swipes Taylor’s bottom lip with his thumb, then presses it into Taylor’s mouth. Taylor doesn’t even hesitate, sucks it in and swirls his tongue around it.

Parse smirks. “Oh, you’re gonna be a lot of fun, aren’t you?” 

Taylor grins around his thumb, then sits back. “You have no idea.” It’s all bravado at this point, but Parse doesn’t call him on it; he just stands and extends a hand.

Parse’s bedroom is, like the rest of the apartment, kind of stupidly huge. So is the bed, which is covered in pillows and has a big fluffy white duvet that’s more appropriate for a Swiss ski chalet than the desert.

All that white is making Taylor a little anxious, considering what they’re about to do. “Um, bathroom?”

Parse points to the door of the en-suite, like it’s no big deal. Hell, it probably isn’t to him. Taylor hasn’t actually bottomed in… almost a year, and he’s only ever done that with Dani. But hell, _Kent Parson_ wants to fuck him — go big or go home, right?

“Okay if I use your shower?” he calls, and gets a “Go for it,” in response. He gets himself as clean as he can manage (Parse has one of _those_ handheld shower heads), and dries off with the fluffiest towel he’s ever seen. 

Parse is sprawled on the bed naked when he comes out of the bathroom. The mountain of white bedding is folded out of the way, to Taylor’s relief. Parse crooks a finger at him, smiling, and Taylor goes.

They make out for a while, slow and easy, and it’s nice. It’s been ages (Dani again, ugh) since Taylor did this, skin-on-skin, hands, mouths, bodies pressed together. It’s a long slow burn to get them back to where they were before, and it’s unexpectedly nice. Parse is a little smaller than him, which is kind of wild — he’s somehow huge in Taylor’s mind — and it’s easy to press him into the mattress, grind down into him. 

“Hey, you still with me?” Parse asks after what seems like half an hour. His fingers slide down between Taylor’s cheeks, circling his hole. “I really want to fuck you.”

Taylor groans against his neck, then rolls off him and onto his belly. “Yeah, come on.”

Parse gets behind him and pulls his hips up, spreads his ass open. Taylor’s waiting for a cool, slick press of fingers, but what he gets instead is a hot, wet tongue. He almost jerks forward, keeps himself from doing so only barely. This is something he obviously knows people do, but he’s never done it before, never had anyone lick him out like this, and _oh fuck_ , he really likes it.

A couple of minutes in, he’s pretty damn shameless about how much he likes it, pressing his ass back against Parse’s face and saying things like, “Fuck yeah, get your tongue in me,” shit that he’s probably only heard in porn before, but he can’t help it. 

By the time Parse replaces his tongue with slick fingers, Taylor’s almost incoherent. 

“Come _on_ ,” he whines, and Parse just chuckles behind him and goes frustratingly slowly.

When he’s three fingers in and nudging against Taylor’s prostate with a rhythm that’s almost perfect, Taylor reaches back and blindly grabs his wrist.

“If you don’t get your dick in me right now—”

“Okay, okay,” Parse replies, and Taylor can hear the grin in his voice. 

It’s all he can do to stay patient while Parse opens the condom packet and slicks up, then he finally pushes in. He’s not all that big — not Zimms big, anyway — but it’s been a while, and Taylor definitely feels it. He breathes, tries to relax, and Parse slides one warm hand up his spine.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “So fucking good.”

Parse starts slow, and Taylor’s patient for a while, but it’s not long before he’s begging for Parse to go faster, to fuck him harder. 

“Christ,” Parse says, and pushes all the way in, presses his forehead against Taylor’s back. “Gimme a minute to cool off here, otherwise I’m gonna blow in like three seconds.”

Taylor whines, because seriously, if Parse comes now, after all the teasing he’s done, Taylor’s gonna be pissed. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Parse says, and Taylor can feel him smiling against his skin. “I’m gonna give it to you exactly the way you want it.”

“You better.” Taylor shifts a little beneath him.

“You should hold onto something,” Parse whispers half a minute later, and then he starts moving.

Taylor ends up bracing his hands on the headboard, and Parse gives him exactly what he asks for. Parse doesn’t stop talking even then, though he’s panting through a lot of it. “Look at you fucking take it… your ass feels so good, baby… gonna make you come so hard… such a perfect little slut for me… gonna go off the second I touch your dick… take it so fucking good…”

Taylor does come basically the second Parse gets a hand on him, and Parse follows right after, slumping against Taylor’s back. They’re both sweaty and breathing hard, and it’s probably the best sex of Taylor’s life. 

They’re both come-drunk for a few minutes, then Parse shifts, pulls out carefully. Taylor winces, because wow — he’s gonna feel that for days. 

“Stay right there,” Parse says with a quick kiss to his shoulder, and Taylor does, slumping down into the mattress. It’s a really nice mattress, just the right balance between soft and firm. The sheet below him is probably like infinite-thread count, and _fuck_ , he just came all over it, didn’t he?

“Hey,” Parse says, and he’s got a wet washcloth. He slides it between Taylor’s cheeks, cleaning him up. Taylor’s face burns a little — Dani never did that, always let Taylor go to the bathroom to take care of the mess himself. But it’s nice. Thoughtful. Taylor makes a note of it.

It’s probably late, and Parse is probably trying to think of ways to kick him out now. God, he hopes Zimms can cover for him. Getting scratched next game might be worth it.

Parse climbs back in bed and wraps himself around Taylor, though, kisses his forehead. “Give me 20 minutes and I’ll suck you off.”

Taylor turns to squint at him. “What?”

Parse props himself up on one elbow. “That was just round one, sweetie. Our teams only play twice a year, gotta do it all while we can.”

Taylor huffs out a laugh. “You are… nothing like I thought you’d be.”

“Am I better?” He raises one eyebrow. Who even does that in real life?

“Definitely.” Taylor leans in to kiss him. 

He’s usually a come-once-and-pass-out kind of guy, but Parse is apparently an exception. They make out for a long time, kissing until Taylor’s lips feel swollen, then Parse pushes him on his back and spends a few minutes testing the sensitivity of Taylor’s nipples. Taylor takes the opportunity to check out all of Parse’s tattoos at close range, and finally gets to lick his abs, which Parse laughs at and Taylor says, “Hey, don’t judge my fantasies.”

“Licking my abs is one of your fantasies, seriously?” Parse grins down at him. 

“Yes.” Taylor kisses the inside of his thigh, noses at his balls while he’s down there. Parse’s dick is half-hard again.

“Hey, wait, it’s my turn to suck you off,” Parse says, and tries to pull him up.

“We don’t have to take turns, you know,” Taylor says, which is how he ends up 69-ing for the first time since… Well. One good thing about tonight is that he’s writing over a lot of his sex life with his ex.

It’s four in the morning before Taylor finally makes himself get out of bed and go look for his clothes. Parse whines a little, but then follows him out to the living room and calls him a cab.

“This was fun,” Taylor says after he’s got his shoes back on.

“Yeah, we should totally do it again.” 

Parse is naked and looks unusually soft and sleepy, and Taylor finally can’t resist reaching for him. He pulls him in for a quick kiss, which turns into a longer kiss, and then some ass groping. He’s starting to think they might get another round in when Parse’s phone buzzes.

“Taxi’s here,” he says, making no move to unwind himself from Taylor. He’s surprisingly clingy, and Taylor really likes it.

“Yeah,” Taylor says with a sigh, and steps away. “I guess I’ll see you?”

“Definitely.” Parse gropes his ass one more time, then opens the door. “Tell Zimms to give you my number.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh… is it okay if I tell him we hooked up?” 

Parse snorts. “Sure, go for it. Hopefully he won’t go all jealous ex on you. Actually, he probably won’t. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers.”

Taylor stares back at him for half a second, willing his expression to look neutral. “Yeah, right. Later, bro.”

“See ya, Whitton.” 

Taylor’s in the taxi before he lets that news sink in. Zimms said he’d been in one relationship, and Parse just called him his ex. There’s a lot Zimms hasn’t told him, apparently — not that it’s any of Taylor’s business, but…

 _Shit_. He fucked his best friend’s ex, without even asking him if it was okay or if there were any lingering feelings or anything. That is _so_ not buddies.

“I’m such an asshole,” he whispers against the window of the taxi. “Oh my god.”

He makes it back to the room without being caught. Zimms is asleep, and Taylor is as quiet as possible while he strips his clothes off and slides under the sheets.

He feels guilty, but he can’t bring himself to regret anything. Parse is hot, maybe the hottest guy Taylor’s ever slept with, and that was absolutely the best sex he’s ever had. Quick hookups are going to pale in comparison for a really long time. And it wasn’t just the actual fucking part, but the rest of it too, the way they just hung out in bed for hours, laughing and chirping each other, and kissing and exploring, like— 

Taylor groans and presses his hands over his face. He’s _not_ going to crush on Parse now, not after all of that. It’s a Very Bad Idea to think it was anything more than a great night of sex.

Kent Parson is not the kind of guy he’s going to develop feelings for. Nope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been wanting to write that one for a while. ;)
> 
> If you have any specific prompts for scenes you'd like to see as outtakes from the next few chapters, feel free to let me know in the comments! I obviously can't guarantee I'll write them all, but I can try to write a few. Thanks, as always, for reading!


	10. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14758942), Bitty POV, so much angst about Jack, rated T, 1600 words. (So. Much. Angst.)

Taylor had said _date night_ and Jack had just shrugged it off like it was no big deal, a joke, and Bitty’d tucked it all away without remark.

But now Jack is sitting across from him looking genuinely upset because Bitty mentioned Kevin, and… there’s a lot to unpack here.

First — and Bitty is _not_ going to let himself think about this too much, because down that path lies nothing but trouble — is the fact that Jack is obviously upset because he thinks Bitty is dating someone. Bitty knows it’s not because it’s a guy. Or well, he’s like 99% sure of that, which is about as sure he is that Jack and Kent Parson hooked up on the regular in the Q. There are a lot of things he could say about that, all of them speculation, but the big point here is that Jack’s not like, homophobic or anything. The only conclusion Bitty can realistically make is that Jack doesn’t want _Bitty_ dating anyone… who isn’t Jack. Maybe?

He’s getting ahead of himself here.

Bitty may be small and cute, but he’s not as naive as people like to think he is. He’s been in love with Jack Zimmermann for a stupidly long time, and he knows that feeling isn’t going away anytime soon. Considering that fact, he spends a lot more time with Jack than he should. He should back away from Jack and Jack’s sweet, flirty friendship for his own damn good. If he had an ounce of self-preservation, he’d stop. He really would.

And he knows — he _knows_ that it’s never going to happen. He’s not really sure what Jack’s deal is, but he’s spent time reading about things ranging from anxiety to asexuality, and he’s trying to understand that whatever it is that Jack wants from Bitty, it’s always going to fall under the umbrella of friendship. Jack needs friends, cherishes them, holds them close and is jealous of anything that might take them away. (He and Taylor have texted about that a lot, and Bitty thinks Jack’s finally chilled about that particular leg of this friendship triangle.) 

But every time Jack flirts, or touches Bitty in a ways that can’t be classified as _bros_ under any stretch of the definition, or hugs Bitty a little too long, Bitty gets his hopes up. And every time, nothing more happens. Nothing more is ever going to happen, because Jack isn’t interested in dating Bitty. Maybe not in dating anyone. 

_Jack doesn’t want me like that_ is his mantra after a lot of late-night Skype calls that end with Bitty jerking himself off and then feeling like shit about it immediately after. Jack would probably freak if he knew, would be weirded out by it, because whatever his deal is, he’s not hooking up with anyone as far as Bitty (or even Taylor, who has a better view) knows. And Bitty would like to think that if Jack were interested in that at all, he’d pick Bitty. Maybe.

 _Jack doesn’t want me like that._ Bitty tells himself that a lot, especially when Jack pulls shit like this.

Jack looks stricken sitting there, almost heartbroken, and Bitty doesn’t know what to do. People watching them could easily assume Bitty just broke up with him. Lord, Bitty hopes no one recognizes Jack tonight, because that would make for a really awkward story on Deadspin.

Wait… did Jack think they were dating? Is that what’s going on here? Bitty takes a big sip of his drink to cover the urge to burst out laughing/crying, because… That would explain a lot. Maybe Jack thought there was something going on here, and he was taking it super slow. Maybe that’s why he invited Bitty here this weekend and he would’ve kissed Bitty tonight and they would’ve made it official and now Bitty’s gone and ruined it by talking about a guy he’s not even dating, just hung out with casually this last week and hooked up with a few times, a guy who is so clearly a Jack Zimmermann stand-in, _oh my god_.

No. No, that’s wishful thinking. He’s gonna stop that train of thought right now and slap himself upside the head.

Kevin is… Kevin is sweet, and he’s the kind of guy Bitty wishes he wanted. He’d be the perfect boyfriend in so many ways. He’s attentive and smart, and he’s been in a few relationships (unlike Braden), so he knows how to talk about what he wants and doesn’t want. He’s pretty good in bed too, at least so far. He’s gentler than Braden was, less selfish, more about making Bitty feel good than just taking what he needs.

But Bitty closes his eyes every time and pretends it’s Jack over him, under him, in him. He knows that’s a shitty thing to do to Kevin. It’s a shitty thing to do to Jack. God, he’s so fucked up right now.

He almost tells Jack how he feels about him, sitting there in the restaurant. He almost says it, that he’d break it off with Kevin right now if Jack wants him, that he’s wanted Jack for years, that Jack is all he wants. The waiter interrupts just in time to save Bitty from making a fool of himself, though, and then they don’t talk about it anymore. 

Jack is sad, though — Bitty can see the disappointment in his eyes, and he wishes he knew what that meant. 

They’re sitting on the couch again later that night when Jack brings it up. He’s careful about it, like he’s trying to understand, trying to be a good and supportive friend. Bitty considers it a truce, and he grabs the branch Jack’s offering. He doesn’t know why he tries to convince Jack that Kevin is good for him. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself.

They’re back in comfortable territory after that, chirping each other and flirting in that way that Bitty knows doesn’t mean anything. And suddenly, a switch flips, and there’s one of those rare moments when Jack opens himself up, makes himself soft and vulnerable in a way Bitty’s pretty sure only he ever sees. 

Jack’s so scared of losing people, of driving them away, and Bitty… doesn’t really understand that, because he sees how wonderful Jack is and how many people love him. It doesn’t make sense, but he knows that anxiety isn’t logical, so he listens and he tries to reassure, and he hugs Jack hard, takes him in his arms and holds him. He holds him for a long time, enough that he can feel Jack’s breath stirring his hair and smell the warmth of his skin. It’s enough, he tells himself. _This is all I’m ever going to get, and it’s enough._

He makes himself pull away before he does something stupid, like press his lips against Jack’s neck or burst into tears, or worse, say _I love you so fucking much_. He sits back, and Jack looks at him and…

For a moment, Jack’s expression is completely open: he’s looking at Bitty like Bitty’s everything he’s ever wanted. There’s longing there, and doubt and fear, and so much affection. It’s the way he looks at Bitty in Bitty’s fantasies, in his dreams. There’s a moment where Bitty is sure Jack is going to lean in and kiss him — the want is written all over his face. Bitty goes completely still and waits: if he’s reading this correctly (and god he hopes he is), he’s not going to do anything to scare Jack away. 

But Jack… doesn’t. The moment passes, and Jack looks away, looks frustrated and sad, and Bitty stifles the urge to scream. If he had any backbone at all, he’d climb in Jack’s lap right now and kiss him. He’d say, “You idiot, I love you and you love me, and why are we doing this?” And Jack would kiss him back and maybe take him to bed and…

Or, Jack might push him away, turn his head and say, “No, Bittle, this isn’t what I want. It’s never going to be what I want.” And that would break Bitty’s heart.

Maybe it needs to be broken. Maybe something like that needs to happen to get Bitty to let this fantasy go.

But not tonight. Not yet.

Shit.

Jack says goodnight, goes to his bedroom and closes the door, and Bitty sits on the couch for a long time. He lets the tears flow, lets himself wallow in how awful it feels. He’s so confused, and he knows they should just talk about it, but he doesn’t know where to start. The worst part is that he’s not ready to let go of the hope yet, that maybe Jack really does love him too, and he’s working his way up to it. That if Bitty just waits, Jack will get there.

God, that’s so pathetic.

They should talk about it, but tomorrow is a game day, and he knows better than to expect Jack to be able to focus on anything other than hockey. Tomorrow, Bitty will bake, and he’ll be a supportive friend, and he’ll probably drown his sorrows with Shitty and Lardo, and he’ll head back to Samwell on Sunday morning and feel sorry for himself while trying to focus on that damn project he’s barely started. 

His phone buzzes on the table, and he picks it up. 

_**Kevin:** Hey, hope you’re having a good weekend. Want to get together Sunday night when I get back?_

Bitty puts the phone face-down on the couch beside him and presses his hands over his face. Kevin is what he should want. He knows that, logically. He should try.

He really, really should.


	11. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during chapters [12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14827777) and [13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14909008), Whits POV after he comes out to the team, Rated M, 2600 words (Content warning for threatened sexual assault, which was referred to in the original fic.)

_“Well, since I actually am gay, maybe we should go for it.”_

The fuck was he thinking? 

Seriously, Taylor’s done some dumb shit in his life, but coming out to his whole team, right before a game, out of frustration because of a mildly homophobic joke, has got to be the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

But it’s out there now, and he can’t take it back. All he can do is move forward, pretend like it’s no big deal. He can absolutely see who his friends on the team are at that moment. Zimms, Janssen, Rolly, Kratz, hell, even Borky, whose comment had started this whole thing — all of them are so clearly on his side. That’s good. That helps.

But he sees the others. He sees the young guys in particular, teenagers who’ve only ever played hockey, haven’t been exposed to anything other than this particular brand of fucking toxic masculinity — he sees the way they’re looking at him now, like he’s suddenly less than they are, something to look down on.

It fucking sucks.

He has a full-on panic attack during warmups, but Zimms comes to the rescue. Taylor’s grateful, more than he can say, and he pulls it together.

He gets a fucking hat trick, in fact, and it sends a message: Taylor Whitton’s on the top line of an NHL team, he just got a hatty, and he likes dick. Suck on that, Pashy.

He feels good after, better than he’s felt in a long time. There are a few guys who get out of the shower quick when he goes in, but his lineys stay close, don’t leave him alone. He knows this is going to change things, and that the odds are good he’ll regret it, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

They all go out after, and he knows it’s for him. Well, he thinks it is, even though the guys picked the least gay bar in Providence. They’re all celebrating, is the point, and it feels good. 

He does the rounds, gets congratulatory drinks bought for him by a lot of the guys. He gives most of them away, because he doesn’t want to get that drunk tonight. He still feels on edge, and doesn’t want to feel out of control. Pashy and his group are still giving Taylor a wide berth, though, and when they do look at him, it’s with smirking expressions and whispered comments. He ignores it, because fuck them, but he finally needs a break.

He spots Eric sitting in a booth with Shitty and Lardo, and he slides in to join them.

“Hey, you!” Eric says, and gives him a hug. “I am so damn proud of you.” He’s slurring his words a little, but in a way that’s more cute than sloppy. 

“Thanks,” he says, and squeezes Eric back. “Where’s Zimms?”

“Went to get another round.” Eric pokes at Taylor’s shoulder. “I cannot _believe_ you did that tonight. What the hell happened?”

Taylor explains the way it went down, and how Zimms had helped him get his head back in the game when he’d started freaking out.

“I wondered what that was about,” Eric says. His expression goes a little dreamy. “Jack’s really good at that stuff. He was a great captain, you know? Always seemed to know what to do to help everybody.”

“Yeah,” Taylor says, side-eyeing him a little. “Speaking of, how’s the weekend going?”

Eric’s expression clouds immediately. “Oh, fine. It’s been fun to hang out, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Clearly something went on between those two, something not that good. “Zimms says you’re seeing someone new?”

Eric looks genuinely surprised. “Uhh… well, sort of.”

“Sort of? Meaning you’ve been on some dates, or meaning you hooked up a few times?”

Eric cringes. “Both?”

Taylor shakes his head. “How long has this been going on?”

“Couple of weeks, but like, it’s not a big deal. He’s just a guy I know.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I text you deets all the time!”

Eric looks down, lips pressed together. “I know, sorry. I just… I guess I didn’t want it to be a thing, you know?”

Taylor hesitates. “Did you think I’d tell Zimms? Because I wouldn’t, okay? What we talk about stays between us.”

“No, I… well, I guess I didn’t want to say anything until I knew what was happening. If he was just a hookup, it would’ve been no big deal.”

“So he’s _not_ just a hookup?” 

Eric shrugs and looks almost sad, which… Good lord, Taylor does not need to be in the middle of the Zimms-and-Eric drama fest. It’s sort of impossible to avoid at this point, though. They’re both being so dumb, and he doesn’t know if he should say something more than he already has. Neither of them is happy without the other, but neither one seems willing to make the first move. It’s frustrating as hell to watch.

“Well, at least you’re getting some. You deserve that much.”

Eric smiles faintly at that. “What about you? This is probably going to change things, right?”

Taylor groans. “God, I have no idea. I mean, the guys have been great — most of them, anyway — but I don’t know how it’s going to change things in the room, you know? It might take some of them a while to get past the idea that I’m not going to jump them.” He rolls his eyes.

Jack returns with a pitcher, and Shitty pours them all new glasses. Eric picks his up and talks about how it was for him when he came out to his team. Taylor tries to imagine what it would have been like to be out to his college team. Dani had him convinced it was a horrible idea, that they’d never have careers in the league if it got out. 

Taylor still isn’t sure he’s wrong.

“Listen,” Eric says, fingers brushing Taylor’s arm, “you’re in a really good position here. You’re not some fourth line grinder worried about staying up. You’re one of the best guys on the team, and they all know it. You’re proof that you can be gay and play great hockey, and that’s…” He pauses and smiles up at Taylor with an expression of wonder. “Honey, don’t you know how special you are?”

He wants to respond that he’s not special, that he’s no big deal, but… okay, that’s not true. He thinks about what it would have meant to him as a teenager to know that there were gay players at this level, at _his_ level, and… yeah. Wow.

He takes another drink to quell the emotion rising in his throat. “Maybe. But it’s not just me, you know.”

Eric’s eyes widen, and his smile turns sly. “Hmm, so apparently you had a good time in Las Vegas last week? And there were no deets shared, mister.”

Taylor’s face warms. “How did you—”

“Jack said you two hung out, and Parse is not exactly subtle on social media.” He raises his eyebrows. “I figured something happened there.” 

“Yeah,” Taylor says, glancing around. “It’s not really a thing I should talk about, though, you know? He’s not exactly out.”

Eric looks disappointed, but he nods. “Yeah, I guess.” He tightens his fingers around Taylor’s wrist. “But know you can always talk to me, okay? And like you said, it stay between us.”

Zimms stands abruptly, and they turn to look at him. His expression is tight, and he sounds almost angry when he says, “I’ll be right back.”

Taylor’s first thought is that someone is doing something stupid across the bar, but Zimms heads to the bathroom.

“Uh oh,” Eric says. “I think he’s pissed at me again.”

“For what?” Taylor asks, and Eric gestures between them. “Seriously? But we’re just talking.”

“He didn’t take the news of Kevin well, and he’s been kind of standoffish ever since.”

Taylor rolls his eyes. “So instead of asking you out himself, he’s just going to be jealous of every guy who talks to you?” 

He’d expected Eric to roll his eyes at that too, but instead, Eric looks stricken.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Taylor says. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s… ugh, I don’t know what’s going on with Jack. I don’t…” He sighs and presses his hands over his face.

“I don’t think he knows what’s going on with him either. Look, I’m gonna go talk to someone else, so when he gets back, he can have you all to himself. Maybe that’ll make him happy.” Taylor hopes so, anyway. “Besides, I was kinda hoping to get laid tonight.”

“In this place?” Eric snorts. “Good luck with that.”

“You never know.” Taylor winks at him.

He goes to hang out with Janssen and Rolly again. They relive his hat trick in detail, and insist on buying him another drink. He lets them, and gets most of it down before they decide to head out.

Taylor hangs out by the bar when they go, and looks around. The place is still pretty busy, but the team is mostly gone. Zimms and company have left, and so have all the other guys he’s usually friendly with. The only guys he can see at the moment are Bell, Pashy, Zizka, and Delk, who’ve been shooting him weird looks all night.

He sighs and drains his drink.

“Hey,” he hears to his right. There’s a woman standing there, smiling at him with clear interest. She’s pretty, with full red lips and long dark hair, and would probably fit most guys’ definition of hot. “Congrats on the hat trick tonight.”

Whits smiles. “Thanks. It was a fun game.”

“It was.” She moves closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of her skin against his arm. “I know some other ways to have fun.”

He has to force himself to keep smiling. “I’ll bet you do.”

“We could go back to your place.” She slides her hand up his arm. “And I could show you.”

God, if he had a dollar for every time a hot girl hit on him. He huffs out a laugh. “Look, I’m sorry. You seem really cool and you’re obviously super hot, but it’s not gonna happen.”

She stares back at him, shocked. “Seriously?” She looks like she might be about to get mad. She knows who is he too, and the last thing he needs tonight is some story on Deadspin about what a dick he was to a fan in a bar.

“I’m… not feeling well,” he says. “I was actually running a fever earlier, and I’m probably contagious. So you know, you don’t want any of that.”

“Wait, you really played sick tonight?” Her expression has gone all sympathetic now. “Oh, poor baby!” She pouts a little and reaches up to touch his forehead. “You need someone to come home with you and take care of you? I could do that. I could tuck you in, give you a sponge bath…” She smiles deviously. “I have a sexy nurse costume from Halloween. I could wear it, give you a reason to feel better.”

Okay, now she’s freaking him out.

“No, that’s really not a good idea.” He backs away. “Um, I’m not feeling so good, actually. I think I’m gonna puke, so… bye!” He turns and heads to the bathroom. 

He leans against the wall once he’s in there, and calculates how long he’ll have to stay before she’ll give up. The door opens, and for a wild moment, he thinks she’s followed him in here to check on him.

“Whits,” Pashy says, staring at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Pash, hey.” Taylor kind of wishes it was the girl, actually.

“You, uh… Good game, bro. Nice hatty.” It seems to pain him to say it. 

“Thanks, man.”

Pashy takes a few steps closer, staggering a little. Taylor backs up, intending to get out of his way, but Pashy keeps walking, literally backs him into a corner. He puts one hand on the wall over Taylor’s shoulder. 

“So, like, were you joking?”

Taylor stares up at him. The dude is a good six inches taller than him, so it’s a genuine effort. “About what?”

“Bein’ gay.”

Taylor laughs. “Bro, why would I joke about that?”

“So you really are, like… You’re not jus’ covering for Zimms?” He waves his free hand in front of Taylor’s chest. He’s slurring his words and wavering where he stands, ugh.

“What?”

“Cause like, if anybody’s into dick, I figure it’d be Zimms. Dude’s too pretty, and he’s like, so fuckin’ weird, right?”

“What the fuck,” Taylor says with a groan. “Christ, Pash, just go home, okay? You’re so drunk.”

“M’not gay,” Pashy says, and leans in close enough that Taylor can smell the tequila he’s been drinking.

“Congratulations.”

“M’not into dudes at all, but I figure a mouth’s a mouth, right? And you got a pretty one. I’ll let you suck me off.” He smiles in a way he probably thinks is alluring. He looks like a feral pig.

Taylor might really throw up now. “Dude, back off.”

“What, I thought you liked dick. Mine not good enough for you?”

“I said, back the fuck off.”

Pashy leans in close enough that Taylor feels his hot breath on his forehead. “I’d fuck your throat, make you choke on it, and you’d love it. I bet you’re a total cock slut, can’t get enough.”

Taylor clenches his jaw. “I would suck every dick on this team before I’d come within ten feet of yours, you ugly motherfucker.”

Pashy’s face goes red, and for a moment, Taylor thinks he’s going to hit him. He gives Pashy a hard shove in the chest and Pashy staggers back, caught off-balance. Taylor steps forward, ready to fight if he has to, but Pashy starts laughing. 

“Bro, your face! Like I’d ever let a dude touch my dick anyway. Fucking gross.” He moves unsteadily toward the urinals, still snort-laughing.

Taylor doesn’t run to the door, but it’s a close thing. He doesn’t stop walking, heads right out of the bar and onto the street. He walks three blocks, heart pounding, before he stops and presses his hands over his face.

 _Shit._ That really sucked, and it could’ve ended very badly. 

Taylor goes home, rides the elevator to his floor, opens the door of his apartment. He stands in the middle of his dark living room for a solid minute, then heads right back out again. 

He goes upstairs and knocks on Zimms’ door. Nothing happens, so he knocks again. Maybe they went somewhere else, and they aren’t here. Maybe he can text them and figure out where they are. He just really needs not to be alone right now, and he doesn’t know where else to turn. 

Just as he’s giving up, the door opens, and Zimms says, “Hey.”

Taylor sighs in relief. Zimms smiles at him, gestures him in, and gives him a glass of water. Then Zimms listens and is incensed on Taylor’s behalf, looks like he’s plotting revenge on Pashy already. Taylor feels the tension in his body begin to drain away.

He hangs out a little longer, until he sees Zimms stifling a yawn. He heads out soon after, feeling a hell of a lot better.

It’s been a long time since he had a real friend. For years, Dani was the closest friend he had, the one person who knew all his secrets, and then Dani left, and Taylor was alone. He didn’t realize how alone he was until he wasn’t anymore.

It’s really, really good.


	12. Ranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set after [chapter 13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/14909008), OMC POV, Whits hooks up with a New York Ranger, rated E, 3200 words

“Matts, you're up,” Coach says. Will hops over the boards, skates over to the faceoff circle. He matches up against Sandborn, who gives him a withering look.

“There's something on your face,” he says in Swedish.

Will rolls his eyes. Yes, his beard is blond, but at least it's coming in this time. It's only been a week and a half, but he likes it. Makes him look older than 19, which is basically the point.

Lindbergh wins the faceoff, snaps it over to Will, who slides it across the ice to Glass. Glass shoots, but the Falcs’ goalie deflects it right back to Sandborn, who streaks down the ice with it. Will is fast, right behind him. He manages to get a stick on the puck, almost tripping Sandborn. It’s enough to separate him from the puck, though, and Gecko’s there to grab it, pass it back out of the zone. 

Unfortunately, no one’s in the neutral zone to catch it, so it's called for icing. Will swears under his breath, winded from the shift. He skates back down to the circle.

The Falcs got a change in while he was busy with that poke check, and now he’s positioned next to Whitton. He suppresses a groan. Whitton on the wing means Zimmermann’s taking the faceoff, which means Will is likely to be -1 soon. 

Will’s a decent player: he’s been shuffled back and forth between the 3rd and 4th lines this season after making the roster out of camp, which is pretty damn good for his second year out of the draft. He was a first-liner in Hartford last year, with 20 minutes of ice time every game, but the NHL is a whole different level. Facing guys like Whitton and Zimmermann, both of whom are having amazing seasons, the kind where their names are mentioned when people talk about end-of-season awards, is intimidating as fuck.

He doesn't look at Whitton, just keeps his eye on the puck. Zimmermann wins the faceoff, of course, and Will finds himself scrambling to block shots. One of the Falcs gets the rebound and sends it behind the net. Will chases, and gets a stick on it before someone smashes him into the boards from behind. It's a scrum then, both of them whacking furiously at the ice by their feet, and neither of them sure where the puck is.

“You just have a growth spurt, Mattesson?” Whitton chirps, casual and easy, like he's not even working that hard. “Eating your Wheaties?”

“Suck my dick,” Will retorts, because he's getting a little fucking tired of chirps about his age. He sees the puck then, pushes back a little to throw Whitton off, and gets his stick on it.

Whitton hip checks him immediately, hard enough that he loses it again. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Will looks up at him at that, shocked, and to his horror, feels his face heat. Whitton winks at him — fucking winks — then knocks the puck out to where Zimmermann is waiting.

The Falcs don't score on that shift, and Will is grateful, because he really fucked that up. He knows better than to let chirping get to him. He’s been playing hockey his whole life, first in Sweden as a kid, then moving to Ottawa when he was 15 to play in the Canadian leagues, working his ass off for a chance at the show. He’s used to this shit, can brush off the comments about his age, his Nordic looks, intelligence, parentage, or whatever else they hurl at him. 

That one, though — that hit a little close to home. He spends the rest of the period on the bench, which he knows he deserves for letting himself get distracted that easily. He keeps his focus on the game, and doesn't let himself panic until he gets back to the room for intermission. 

He spends a couple of minutes in his stall with his head between his knees, trying to regulate his breathing, because Whitton can't _know_. Will’s been careful, so fucking careful. He’s in New York City, and he’s probably gone a little overboard with the anonymous hookups, but it’s so easy to do. None of the team — hell, no hockey fans, even, go to the bars where Will can get laid. When the team is on the road, Will pretends to leer at girls like the others do, even lets himself be seen leaving a bar with one occasionally, just so the guys don't get suspicious. He’s not out to anyone, not even his own parents. Shit, he’s barely out to himself. 

It was just a chirp, something Whitton did to throw him off his game, and it worked. It won't happen again.

Except that it does, because Whitton is smart enough to realize he's found a button he can push. They're only on the ice together three more times, and every time, Whitton makes a comment. The comments aren't, like, rude or homophobic; they're more… flirty. If Will didn't know better, he'd think Whitton was hitting on him, and that's more than enough to distract Will thoroughly.

He gets an earful from one of the assistant coaches during the second intermission, and it's utterly humiliating. The other guys on his line are starting to notice too, seeing that Whitton’s doing something to get under his skin. Whitton’s not saying anything where other guys can hear it, is careful, but it’s throwing Will off all the same. 

When they go out for for the last frame, Will’s got a new strategy. If Whitton wants to flirt with him, fine. Will is gonna give it right back, see how he likes it.

It turns out that Whitton actually, really likes it. He doesn't even seem surprised, which puts Will right back to the start, wondering if Whitton knows. 

“I like the beard,” Whitton says when they’re jockeying for position just outside the paint. 

“You like beard burn too?” Will retorts.

“Fuck yeah,” is the response he gets.

When Will checks him into the boards, Whitton smirks and says, “Come on, Mattesson, give to to me harder.” 

“I'll show you hard,” Will mutters, and Whitton says, “Promise?” just low enough for Will’s ears.

Whatever his intention is, it doesn't feel malicious. It's more like a game, one that even starts to be a little fun by the end. They've never met before, not really, but their on-ice interaction reminds Will of the times when he’s played against one of his old teammates from Junior, and they have a blast competing hard while chirping this shit out of each other. 

Except without all the sexual innuendo. That part’s definitely new.

The game goes to overtime, and the Falcs net the game winner three minutes in. Will never even got on the ice for it, doubts he could've made an impact if he did. Losing always sucks, but at least they got a point out of it. That's what the vets keep saying, anyway. 

He showers and gets dressed, already thinking about hitting up Grindr when he gets back to his apartment. He’s a little worked up from the adrenaline of the game and all the weird pseudo-flirting with Whitton.

The last thing he expects is to see Whitton leaning against the wall in the hallway near the players’ exit, tapping at the screen of his phone. Will’s seen him out of gear before, but never up close like this, with his hair falling in his face and his game day suit fitting really, really well. 

He’s really fucking hot, is what Will is saying.

Whitton looks up from his phone and smiles. “Mattesson. Good game.”

Will doesn't let himself smile back. “What are you doing here? Don't you have a plane to catch?”

“Nah, we play the Isles tomorrow night. You busy?”

“Um,” Will says, because he has no idea where this is going. “No?”

“Sweet. Can I buy you a drink?” His smile is lop-sided, flirty.

Will blinks at him, then turns to look around, makes sure no one is in earshot before moving closer. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you up on your invitation to blow you.” Whitton wets his bottom lip with his tongue. “If you want.”

“Holy shit,” Will says, and feels his face flush. “Are you serious?”

“You think I would offer to suck a guy’s dick if I didn't mean it?”

Okay, point. 

“We can go to my place, if you want.”

“Yeah, great. I've got curfew anyway.”

Will usually takes the subway, likes the feeling of disappearing into the city on nights like this, but Whitton insists on paying for a taxi. Whitton follows him up the stairs to Will’s Brooklyn walkup, then looks around the room when they get inside. It's a studio and the place is a mess, enough that Will is embarrassed and spends an awkward moment tossing dirty clothes off the bed.

He turns to see Whitton smiling at him in the dim light. No, not smiling — leering is more like it. 

“Um,” Will says, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You want a drink?”

Whitton crosses to stand in front of him. “Maybe later.” He reaches for Will’s tie and tugs it toward him. Will lets himself be pulled in. “I’d rather suck your dick first.”

Will laughs, almost giggles. “Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

“So you can smile.” Whitton reaches out, cups his fingers against Will’s jaw. “You should do that more often.”

Before Will can reply, Whitton kisses him. It's a soft, teasing sort of kiss, with the barest touch of tongue. Will sighs against Whitton’s mouth and kisses back, deepens it, slides his arms around Whitton’s waist. Whitton's half-hard against his hip, and Will’s rapidly joining him, and then it hits him.

He’s about to hook up with _Taylor Whitton_ , one of the top players for the Providence Falconers, a rising star in the league. It'd be like hooking up with Seguin or Parson or McDavid, or hell, Zimmermann. This is a guy whose hockey he admires, someone he’s watched a lot of video on, some of it while shaking his head in disbelief. Whitton is here, in his bed, and wants to blow him. It's completely surreal.

“I can't believe you're gay,” Will says.

Whitton chuckles against his cheek. “What, I don't fit the stereotype?”

“No, I mean… I didn't know there were any gay guys in the league. I thought it was just… me.”

Whitton pulls back a little then, eyebrows raised. “Oh, you sweet summer child. You have no idea.”

Before Will can respond to that, Whitton kisses him again, and _fuck_ , he's good at it. Will’s calves hit the edge of the bed before he realizes he’s been backed up, and it's another moment before he’s aware half the buttons on his shirt have been undone. 

He unfastens the rest to speed things along, drops the shirt to the floor, and starts on his pants. Whitton breaks the kiss long enough to join him, then lays him out on his own bed when they're both naked. There’s not a lot of prelude after that: Whitton produces a condom from somewhere and rolls it on Will, then sucks him down.

He’s good at this, and Will doesn't know why he’s surprised. Whitton must be some sort of dick whisperer, because he figures out exactly what Will likes without Will having to do much more than wriggle and moan beneath him. He takes Will deep in his throat and swallows around him, tugs gently on his balls, and nudges up behind them. One wet finger circles Will’s hole tentatively, presses just against the outside.

“Yeah, finger me,” Will says, and Whitton pulls off long enough to ask if he's got lube. A few minutes later, Will’s got two slick fingers in his ass, hitting him just right, and Whitton’s incredible mouth on his dick, with just enough suction to keep him right on the edge. 

“Fuck,” Will pants when he’s so close he can't stand it. “A little harder, just… yeah…” Whitton does, and it's perfect, and Will comes so hard that everything goes fuzzy. 

He can't really feel his legs after that, let alone move them. One is slung up over Whitton’s shoulder and the other is hanging off the bed. He’s not sure if they'll work again for a while. 

“Bro,” he manages after a moment, “Fuck.”

Whitton kisses the inside of his thigh and slides his fingers out slowly. “Be right back.”

Will hears him washing his hands in the bathroom, then feels the mattress dip beside him again. 

“Gimme a sec, bro, and I'll get you back.”

“No rush,” Whitton says, shifting up on one elbow. 

“Thought you had curfew.”

“Yeah, but Zimmermann’s my roommate, and he always covers for me.”

Will’s mind spins a little at that. That probably means Zimmermann _knows_ , and is cool with it. Whitton’s out to at least one guy on his team, maybe more. Will didn’t know you could do that. “Cool, he manages.

Whitton smiles at Will, then leans down and kisses him. They make out for a few minutes, lazy and sweet. Whitton’s dick is hot and hard against Will’s thigh, a reminder that he hasn’t come yet, so Will reaches down to stroke it. Whitton makes a soft sound into Will’s mouth, then presses his face against Will’s neck. 

“Can I blow you now?” Will asks, twisting his fingers against the head of Whitton’s dick.

“Mmm hmm. I was promised beard burn.”

Will pushes him over onto his back. “I think I can manage that.”

Whitton's vocal about what he likes, in a way that's more hot than pushy. He’s touchy too, keeping one hand on top of Will’s head, gentle, but threading fingers in Will’s hair, almost petting him. Will usually rushes through a blowie, the goal being to get the other guy off as fast as possible so they can get the hell out. He goes slowly now, though, focuses on drawing more of those noises from Whitton, on giving him the best head Will can manage. He may not get the chance to get his mouth on Whitton’s dick again, and he’s going to enjoy it.

He feels it when Whitton comes, even through the condom, and he doesn’t pull off until Whitton pushes him away with a hand on his hand. Some guys like it when you keep going, he’s learned.

“C’mere,” Whitton says, making grabby hands at him. Will slides up the bed, settles along Whitton’s side. Whitton wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. “This okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Will says. He’s never done this before, has never actually cuddled with anyone after sex. In fact, he’s not even sure he’s ever done it completely naked. It’s… nice. 

“You’re thinking really loud.” Whitton strokes Will’s hair.

Will looks up at him. His eyes are closed. “Sorry.” He’s quiet for nearly a minute, and Whitton doesn’t push. “So… do you do this a lot?”

“Hook up?”

“Hook up with other players.”

Whitton chuckles. “Whenever I can manage it. Everybody knows the deal that way, you know?”

And yeah, that does make sense. Other hockey players would get why they have to be careful, wouldn’t sell what they know to Deadspin or Buzzfeed, and they wouldn’t ask for anything more than what they can give. Still, there’s one thing that’s bothering him, one nagging worry.

“So like… How did you know? About me, I mean.” 

“I didn’t.” Whitton yawns, then scrubs his free hand over his face. “I mean, I thought you were hot, yeah, so I flirted with you. And you reacted like you were interested, so.”

“So I’m not… it wasn’t obvious that I’m…”

“Did you know I was gay just by looking at me?” Whitton squints down at him.

Will shakes his head. “I had no idea.”

“Don’t worry, kid. No one really cares that much what you do with your dick, as long as your hockey is good.”

Will stares up at the ceiling. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happens if your hockey starts to suck, though. It’d probably be an issue then.“ 

“So you’re saying I can fuck guys all I want as long as I’m good on the ice, and no one will care? Seriously?”

“Well, not _no one_. I mean, a certain percentage of guys are gonna be homophobic dicks. But most guys at this level have their own personal lives to worry about. As long as you get the pucks to the net and have their backs, they’ll have yours.”

He makes it sound so easy. Will’s not convinced it really is that easy, but hell, if someone like Whitton can be semi-out and fuck around, maybe it’s possible for someone like Will to be a little more comfortable in his own skin too.

He props his chin up on Whitton’s shoulder and smiles. “So who else in the league have you fucked, then?”

Whitton smirks. “Nope. Rule number one of Gay Hockey Sex Club is that we don’t talk about Gay Hockey Sex Club. We don’t out each other, ever.”

“Yeah, okay.” Will nods, a little abashed now. “Is there really a club?:”

Whitton laughs. “I’ll just say there are a lot more guys in the league who are into dick than anybody knows. You’d be amazed.”

“That’s… wow.” Will starts to think through the teams they’ve played already, unable to stop himself from speculating. 

“So your secret is safe with me, okay?”

Will stretches up to kiss him for that. It starts easy, then heats up more than Will expected.

“God, you’re so hot,” Whitton says, and turns on his side to face Will more directly. “If you want, we can have a sort of standing booty call whenever our teams play.” His hand slides down Will’s side and wraps around his dick. It’s only been ten minutes, but he can feel himself getting hard again already. “If you don’t want to, no big deal.”

“Yes, please,” Will whines, and he should be embarrassed by his own eagerness, but honestly, that was some amazing sex they just had. He’d be an idiot not to want to do it again.

They do it again right then, grinding together until Whitton wraps one hand around both their cocks and jerks them off.

They talk a bit more after, mostly about hockey and how the season is shaping up. Eventually it’s late enough that Whitton really has to go. Will’s a little sad to say goodbye considering everything that happened tonight, but he’s also pretty excited. He’s not sure how he’s going to figure out who might be up for it when they play Dallas on the road in two days, but the fact that it’s even a possibility is enough for now.

“See ya, Mattesson,” Whitton says just before he opens the door.

“Call me Will, if you want.”

Whitton holds out his hand, and Will takes it. “Taylor, then. Nice to meet you, Will. See you next time.” He leans in for a quick kiss, and then he’s gone.

Will goes back to bed, wraps himself in a blanket that smells like Taylor, and sleeps better than he has all season.

When he wakes up the next morning, it feels like a new day in more ways than one.


	13. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15032518), Alicia's POV of Jack and Whits’ visit to Montreal, Rated E, 3100 words

Alicia has a theory.

Well, she’s got a lot of theories, but this one she’s pretty excited about. She’s got questions, too, and she’s going to get answers tonight. 

Bob says she’s “nosy” and “too interested in Jack’s personal life” and “needs a hobby.” She’s got hobbies, thank you very much. This is their _son_ , though, their only child, the light of her life, the baby she wasn’t sure she’d ever get to have. She’s watched him grow from an awkward little duckling into a gentle, beautiful, talented man. A troubled man at times, sure, but he’s so strong and he’s come so far. 

Still, she worries. Jack hates that she worries, rolls his eyes like he’s 15 instead of 25, and tells her not to. She will always worry because she can’t just sit back and watch the world be cruel to her child and not react. That’s what mothers _do_ , she tells him, and he rolls his eyes again. 

She doesn’t get much information out of him over the phone or through text, but in person, it’s a whole other story. He says so much with his face, with his hands, with his eyes. She could read him like a book when he was a teenager, to the point that he’d once asked her if she was psychic. None of his billet families could do that, and she’s always wondered if the overdose wouldn’t have happened if he’d been living at home. Not that she blames anyone, but still. She _knows_ him.

When he went off to play in the QMJHL, he talked only about hockey at first, hardly even mentioned school. It was like he was already in the pros and nothing else mattered; all hockey, all the time. And then one day, he started talking about Kent. 

He talked about Kent the same way he talked about hockey, sort of breathless and fascinated, and it was the first time he’d ever been that interested in anyone. She hadn’t asked then, had waited for him to tell her. He didn’t, not until it was over, after the overdose and the draft, when he was in the hospital and coping with so many other things. That was when he’d said, “Mom, I loved him,” past tense and sad. 

She and Bob talked about it, didn’t talk with Jack about it, and fielded calls from an increasingly desperate Kent over the next few months. When the Aces came to Montreal, Jack didn’t want to go to the game, didn’t want anything to do with it. Bob had gone, quietly, and Alicia met Kent for coffee the next morning. He’d cried on her shoulder. She hadn’t known what to tell him, how to explain that Jack needed to take care of himself before he had the capacity to love anyone else. 

He’d gone to Samwell because she’d wanted him to, because they’d thought it would be a good way for him to start playing hockey again. She knew that he’d be accepted there, that he could find himself and his tribe. 

For the first two years, all Jack talked about was hockey. There were friends in the mix too, Shitty in particular, but no one he obsessed about, talked endlessly about, clearly had strong feelings for. And then, the third year, he started talking about Bittle. At first, it was all annoyance and frustration, but she could hear something else under it too, something she wasn’t sure Jack had even noticed. By spring, things had changed, and the talk was about how hard Bittle was working and how much he’d improved, how Jack had gone out of his way to work with him and Bittle was great, so coachable, so talented. And he was a great baker and had funny taste in music, tweeted constantly, and on and on.

By Jack’s senior year, it was clear that Eric was one of his best friends, that they were close. By then, Alicia had met Eric, had even met his parents, and she couldn’t miss the way Eric looked at Jack, like he’d hung the moon. She also saw the way Jack looked at Eric, like he couldn’t stop watching him, like everything he did was fascinating.

The pining was incredible, and it was far from one-sided. Alicia stayed out of it, didn’t ask. She wanted to, though — _god_ , she wanted to, though she was pretty sure nothing was actually happening between them. She didn’t want to push, but she also wanted to shake Jack and tell him his time was running out.

Time did run out.

Well, it didn’t run out completely. Jack clung to his Samwell friends and to Eric well into the season. He made new friends too. He met Taylor.

His talk went from being _hockey-Bittle-hockey-Bittle-hockey_ to _hockey-Whits-hockey-Bittle-hockey_. She hasn’t asked. She’s “snooped,” as Bob would say, tried to learn what she could. Eric stopped tweeting about Jack after Thanksgiving, and Jack stopped talking about him almost completely, and… Alicia doesn’t know what to think now.

They go to the game, and it’s so amazing to watch Jack on the ice. It’s great to watch Bob watch him too, so full of happiness and pride. After everything that’s happened, the circuitous path Jack’s taken to get to this point, to accomplish a dream — it’s breathtaking, really.

She told Jack to invite Taylor along tonight, after hearing all about Jack’s visit with Taylor’s parents in Texas. She’s not sure if the time in Dallas was just meeting his parents or, like, _meeting the parents_ , but she’s going to find out soon enough. 

They meet the boys after the game and take them home. Taylor is wide-eyed in the car, completely in awe of Bob, and a little of her too. He looks almost overwhelmed when they first sit down with drinks in the living room, but it doesn’t take long for him to find his bearings. He’s not shy or awkward at all, nothing like Jack in that way.

After ten minutes of watching Taylor and Jack together, it’s obvious: there’s nothing going on between them. Taylor is clearly fond of Jack, and they’re obviously close, but that’s all it is. And she only has to mention Eric’s name to see Taylor give Jack a knowing look, and for Jack to visibly crumple in front of her.

Taylor mentions a boyfriend, Kevin, and she can almost piece the whole story together: Eric finally got tired of waiting for Jack to get a clue, and moved on. Jack still loves him, though, still wants him, and is afraid to say anything. It might be too late, or it might not, but Jack is going to mope and be unhappy about it, because that is what Jack does. 

She wants to shake him. 

She presses until Bob gives her that look, the one that says _we’re not fighting about this in front of Jack, but there will be a fight if you don’t stop_ , and she relents. Jack is miserable, and there’s nothing she can do to help him. It sucks. 

Jack shows Taylor to the guest bedroom while she and Bob clean up. Bob’s had a lot to drink, is a little more handsy in front of company than usual. He at least waits until the boys are out of earshot before pressing against her from behind in the kitchen and kissing the back of her neck. 

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly, putting leftovers into containers.

“What do you think?” He grinds against her a little until he’s half-hard, and she shakes her head at the incongruity of it all: she’s spent the whole night worrying about her son’s love life, while her husband was apparently thinking about his own.

“You’re insatiable.” She smiles as she says it, though.

“And you’re tense as fuck,” he replies. “Good thing I know how to help you relax.”

“You are so—” she begins, and he nuzzles her again. “Let me finish this!”

“I’m not stopping you.” He kisses her again and presses into her. He’s definitely hard now. 

“Good night,” Jack says from behind them. 

Alicia grins, ducks away from Bob to go over and give Jack a hug good night. Bob keeps his back to them, putting leftovers in the fridge. Alicia has to stifle the urge to laugh.

“Sleep well, honey,” she says, and kisses Jack’s cheek. He doesn’t squirm away like he did for a while when he was a teenager, and she’s glad. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Jack,” Bob calls over his shoulder.

Jack heads upstairs, and Alicia bursts into giggles. 

Bob turns around and grins at her. His pants are obviously tented in the front. He glances down at his groin and back up at her again, eyebrows raised. She crosses to him and leans in close enough to kiss him. She reaches down and presses her fingers against the hard line of his cock.

“Finish cleaning the kitchen and come upstairs.” 

She backs away, smiling, and he sighs heavily, put-upon.

She takes a moment to freshen up when she gets upstairs, gets undressed and runs a wet washcloth over her body. He’s already in bed when she comes out of the en-suite, and already naked.

She shakes her head, mock-annoyed. “Did you start the dishwasher?”

“Oui.”

“Did you put everything away?”

“Oui, bien sûr, viens ici.”

“Did you—”

“ _Alicia_.”

She grins and climbs over him on the bed, straddles his thighs. She takes his cock in her hand and strokes up once. “Just making sure.”

He pushes himself up on his elbows. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe…” 

She leans down and licks the head, just enough to taste him. He makes a soft sound at that, and she does it again, presses the tip of her tongue against the slit the way he likes it. He shifts his hips a little, encouraging her, and she takes him in her mouth, massages the spot where the foreskin meets the head with the flat of her tongue. He groans then, lets his head fall back on the mattress. 

She sucks him for a while, feeling the weight of him against her tongue, taking her time. A good blow job gets him revved up quickly, but she knows how to keep him there for a while. He prefers not to come like this, so if he gets too close too fast, he’ll stop her before she can really get into it. 

He’s impatient tonight, though, so he stops her before long with a touch to her head. She whines a little, sucks just the head while looking up at him through her eyelashes, but he says, “No, I don’t want to come yet.” 

He feels guilty when all the attention is on him, like it’s important that she comes twice before he even gets close. She knows that’s his personality, part of how he sees himself as someone who takes care of the people he loves, makes sure they have what they need before he takes his share. He’s like a super-unselfish caveman in that way, and she both loves it and finds it annoying. She fantasizes about tying him up, making him just take it. She’s going to, one of these days.

He reaches for her, pulls her down into a kiss, then rolls them over. She likes the weight of him over her, the feeling of being pressed into the mattress under him. He’s impatient tonight, though, and soon slides down her body to push her thighs apart. 

The first touch of his tongue on her is electric, wet-hot and barely there. She bites her lip and pulls her knees apart, opening herself to him. He licks at her softly, tongue everywhere at once, then sliding into her, making her gasp. It feels amazing, the way he licks inside her, fucks her with his tongue while his fingers dig into her thighs. 

He replaces his tongue with fingers, pressing them against her clit from the inside while he licks her out for real now, focuses his attention right where she needs it. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s how relaxed she is tonight, but her orgasm almost catches her by surprise, building up so quickly she gasps, makes more noise than she usually does. He backs off when she stops pulsing around his fingers, just sucks lightly on her pussy for a moment, like he can’t get enough. 

He starts flicking his tongue against her slowly, gently, letting her reactions guide him. “Yeah,” she says, feeling herself on the edge again, “Yeah, right there, _Bobby_!” The second time is more muted, feels wrung out of her, and as soon as it’s over she reaches for him.

“Come up here, I want you inside me.”

He sits back, wipes his mouth off with his hand, then guides the head of his cock into her. She makes an impatient noise: if he doesn’t hurry up, she’s going to miss her chance to come again. He understands that sound, though, so he doesn’t tease, pushes in and fucks her hard, the way she needs it. 

He covers her mouth with his when she comes again, swallowing the sounds she’s making, then slows down the pace. She sighs, sinks into the mattress while he starts to fuck her slowly — the way he likes it. She wraps her legs around him, kisses him, tells him how good he feels, how hard he made her come, all the things she knows he likes hearing. She won’t come again, but she likes to be fucked afterward like this, easy and sweet, watching his pleasure build until he can’t stop himself from speeding it up again. 

He presses in deep when he comes, face buried against her neck. He collapses there after, breathing hard. He’s sweating too; she can feel the slickness between them, but she doesn’t care. She’ll just smell like him in the morning, a reminder.

She goes to clean herself off, then washes her face and brushes her teeth. He’s almost asleep when she comes back to bed.

He smiles and pulls her in sleepily, and it’s not long before his breathing evens out. She’s not far behind him.

***

She’s in the kitchen the next morning, heating up the quiche, when Taylor staggers in. He looks sleep-rumpled and so young. She smiles at him. 

“Coffee?”

He gives her a look like an eager puppy. “Please.”

She pours him a cup and slides the cream and sugar to him, watches him fix it the way he likes. Her impression of him so far is that he’s a genuinely good person, a great hockey player, and most importantly, that he gets Jack in a way not many do.

“Sleep well?” she asks.

He nods and sips his coffee. “Yeah, great. You?”

“I did.” She bites her lip a little, thinking of the reason. 

He grins into his coffee and looks away. “So this is where Jack grew up, huh?”

“Yeah, more or less. We lived in Pittsburgh when he was very little, but I don’t know how much of that he remembers.”

“Seems pretty intense. I mean, Montreal, famous hockey-playing dad and all.”

“Definitely. It wasn’t always easy, but Jack seemed to ignore most of the bullshit, you know?” She sighs. “It was clear that he’d be just as hockey-obsessed as Bob, but I wouldn’t have minded if he’d decided to do something else with his life.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise you one day.”

Alicia raises her eyebrows at that, but decides not to ask. “You’ve had a pretty amazing season so far.”

His smile dims a little. “Well, yeah, but I wouldn’t have without him. He’s so talented, and an incredible playmaker. He makes everyone around him look good.”

“He says very similar things about you.”

Taylor looks a little awed at that. 

“He knows he wouldn’t be doing as well without you on his line. You make a great pair.”

“It’s not… we’re not together,” he says, frowning a little. “I mean, we’re really good friends, and I’d be lying if I said I’ve never thought about it, but.” He shrugs.

“But he’s in love with Eric.”

Taylor’s cheeks color a bit, and he doesn’t reply.

“I’m not asking you to confirm or deny anything,” she adds. “That’s just an observation.”

He takes a sip of his coffee. “My mom thought he and I were together too, for a while. She seemed disappointed that we weren’t.”

Alicia isn’t sure what Taylor’s sexuality is, but it’s good to know he’s open-minded, at least, and that his parents are too. “It’s a mom thing, seeing your child with someone who makes them happy and wondering if there’s more to it.” The timer goes off for the quiche, and she gets up to take it out of the oven. “I’m sorry if I said anything last night that made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine. Zimms —Jack— he’s been a great friend. He’s helped me a lot this season.”

She cuts a slice of quiche and puts it in front of him. He devours it in about three seconds, so she gets him another.

“Would you mind giving your mom my number? I’m sure we’ll meet at some point, but I could call her and say hello, if you don’t think she’d mind.”

Taylor snickers. “She’d probably flip out, to be honest. She had a huge crush on Bad Bob when she was younger.”

Alicia laughs. “She wasn’t the only one, let me tell you.” 

“And my dad has seen all your movies, so.” He grins, a little conspiratorially. “They might both be a little starstruck.”

“Your mom played hockey, right?”

Taylor is in the middle of telling her about how his mom coached his first peewee team when Jack stumbles in. He looks half-asleep still, hair sticking up adorably, and for a brief moment, she’s taken right back to when he was little, when he’d climb into her lap at the kitchen table and go back to sleep on her shoulder. 

“Morning,” he grumbles, and heads toward the coffee. 

“You slept late,” Alicia says.

Jack shrugs. “Went to sleep late too.”

Alicia shakes her head in mock-annoyance, and gets him a slice of quiche. 

“Always a ray of sunshine in the morning,” Taylor quips, grinning at Alicia. Jack shoots him a glare.

Alicia laughs and kisses the top of Jack’s head while he’s still too sleepy to object.

She watches the two of them, the way they’re comfortable together, and smiles. It may not be what she’d hoped it was, but it’s still something really good.


	14. Senator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15118081), OMC pov, Whits/OMC and the ugly events of the Falcs/Sens game, rated E, 3000 words

“Easy!” Curtis yells.

Cole grins at the sight of him. It’s been a while since they’ve had a chance to meet up before a game like this, but the schedule worked out just right this time. 

Cole stands and waves Curtis over to the corner table he’d staked out in the bar. There's another guy trailing behind him: Whitton, Cole realizes as they draw close, Curtis’ rookie from last year, now kicking ass on Zimmermann’s wing.

“Hey man,” Cole says when they reach the table. He draws Curtis into a bro hug. “You look like shit, dude.”

Curtis rolls his eyes. “Thanks, bro, you too. Hey, this is Taylor Whitton.”

“Yeah, I know who he is.” Cole holds out his hand to Whitton, who takes it and smiles warmly at him. He’s got big brown eyes and long eyelashes, and his hair falls into his face when he ducks his head. Cole has to force himself to let go of Whitton’s hand. “I'm Cole Easton.”

“I've heard a lot about you,” Whitton says. 

“All bullshit. This one” —He points at Curtis— “should never have been given a fucking A. Or a kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't listen to this asshole, Whits. He's completely full of shit.”

Cole grins. “Did he tell you we were rookies together?”

“Yeah,” Whitton says, laughing. “I've heard some stories.”

“All lies.” Cole shakes his head. “I was a perfect angel. Practically an altar boy, in comparison to this one.”

They order drinks and talk, mostly telling tales about their rookie year while Whitton listens with an amused expression. He’s a good-looking guy, Cole can't help but notice. He always notices — not that he'd ever do anything about it. 

But Whitton is looking at him too, watching Cole with a sort of intense interest he’s not used to getting from young players. They tend to be focused on themselves, get bored when the conversation isn't about them. Stories about shit that happened almost a decade ago are not ones Cole expects anyone but his own friends to care about.

After an hour, Curtis pulls some bills from his wallet and drops them to the table. “Sorry, but I need to get going. Time for me to tell a bedtime story on Skype.”

“Tell the little guy I said hello,” Cole says.

“Nah, that’ll give him nightmares.” 

Cole scratches a spot on his nose with his middle finger.

Whitton makes no move to get up when Curtis does, just leans back in his chair and smiles.

“Take care, man,” Curtis says, and gives Cole another quick hug. “See you on the ice tomorrow.”

“You’re only gonna see my ass while you're chasing me down the ice,” Cole retorts. 

Curtis snorts. “Sure thing, Easy. Later, Whits.” He gives Whitton a pointed look, then goes.

Huh.

Curtis turns to look at Whitton, uncertain what's happening. Did Curtis feel bad about having to cut out early, and bring Whitton along to take his place?

Whitton gives him a speculative look. “So.”

“So,” Cole repeats.

Whitton stares back at him, then smiles even wider. It's a different smile than the one he wore earlier, it's more familiar, almost flirty. “So you're Easy.” He smirks a little at the obvious innuendo. “Janssen talks about you a lot.”

Cole is… starting to have an idea where this might be going. 

“Yeah? What’d he say?” 

He doesn't think Curtis would have said anything. Hell, they never really even talked about it, even after that one very awkward night when Cole brought a hookup back to the apartment they shared, on a night when Curtis had said he wasn't coming home. He did come home, though, right when Cole was walking the guy out at one in the morning, Cole in nothing but boxers and both of them looking far too rumpled for any sort of plausible deniability. Curtis had turned red, mumbled a good night, and disappeared into his room. Neither of them brought it up the next morning, but from then on out, Curtis was a lot more careful about showing up unexpectedly.

“That you two were epic pranksters,” Whitton says. He takes a sip of beer and never breaks eye contact. 

“Yeah. Though that was really more him than me. I just tagged along.” 

He stares back, trying to figure out if what he thinks is happening is actually happening. What he _hopes_ is happening, to be honest. Whitton is hot, and though Cole doesn't have trouble picking up, he almost never does at home, or hell, anywhere in Canada. He’s made it this far without being caught, and a quick fuck isn't worth what he could lose. He loves his team, but he's been around long enough to know not all of them would take it as well as Curtis did. 

“You live nearby?” Whitton asks. 

God, he's just putting it out there. What the hell? Cole laughs a little. “Um, yeah.”

Whitton raises his eyebrows like _are you going to make me say it?_

“I'll get the check,” Cole says.

They walk back to Cole’s condo, elbows brushing every other step. Whitton makes small talk, all of it casual and meaningless, just stuff to fill the silence. Cole half-listens, adds an occasional comment, and mostly tries not to freak out about the fact that he just got picked up by one of the star forwards on the team he’s playing tomorrow.

He’s relieved none of his neighbors are around when they get to the building — not that anyone would look at the two of them and know what was going on, but still, it’d be far too interesting for some people with phones in hand to ignore. He grabs two beers out of the fridge, and they sit on the couch and drink them.

“Nice place,” Whitton says, looking around. He nods toward the TV and the speakers set up all around it. “Great setup.”

“Thanks. You wanna play something?”

Whitton gives him an incredulous look. “Not right now.”

Cole feels his cheeks heat. Christ, he’s not usually this awkward around guys he’s into. He’s pretty damn smooth, in fact. _Get it together, man_.

“So—” Cole begins.

Whitton leans in and kisses him, and whatever Cole was going to say flies right out of his head. It’s a searing kiss, the kind that revs him right up, with just enough tongue to make him chase for more. It gets hot and heavy fast, and before Cole knows it, he’s flat on his back on his own couch with Whitton over him, knees braced between Cole’s spread thighs. He's not even sure how it happened, really. Whitton’s like a force of nature, confident and charming, like he knows what he’s got to offer.

“Christ,” Cole says when Whitton gets a hand inside his pants. “Can we take some clothes off first?”

“Sure, bro, whatever you want.” Whitton stands and strips, right there in the middle of Cole’s living room. He’s gorgeous, with thick thighs and the kind of ass Cole almost never sees outside of a locker room. His dick is hard, objectively pretty, and Cole wants his mouth on it like yesterday.

He pulls Whitton toward him with hands on his hips, then kisses his belly. It's not even the slightest bit soft. God, to be 23 again.

“Oh my god, look at you. The things I want to do right now.”

“Yeah?” Whitton sounds a little breathless above him. His cock is leaking, and Cole has to touch it. He spreads the fluid beading at the tip with his thumb. Whitton hisses through his teeth.

Cole kisses his hip, drags his tongue lower, into the crease of his groin. He smells a little like sweat, and Cole fucking _loves_ it. 

“Stay right there. Don't move.”

Cole has condoms in the bathroom, and has to dig a bit before he finds the unlubed ones. 

“I didn't move.” Whitton says when he gets back, with the tone of someone who expects to be rewarded for good behavior.

“I'll give you a cookie later,” Cole replies, and sits on the couch in front of him again.

Whitton is beautifully responsive with Cole’s mouth around him, and polite in a way most of Cole’s quick hookups usually aren't. He strokes Cole’s hair, pets the back of his neck, and tells Cole how good his mouth feels. He even warns Cole when he’s close, and Cole sucks him in as deep as he can, digs his fingers into Whitton's ass to get him to fuck his throat.

Whitton lands bare-assed on the couch after, a dazed smile on his face. “Gimme a sec and I'll get you back.”

He’s beautiful, the sort of guy Cole would jerk off to photos of. Hell, he might watch some of the guy’s highlights with a hand down his pants for the next few weeks. 

“Actually, can I jerk off on you?”

Whitton looks surprised, but he shrugs lazily and gestures at his chest. “Go for it, bro.”

Cole expects him to just lie there and watch, but Whitton is determined to participate. He tugs at Cole’s t-shirt until Cole has to pause long enough to pull it over his head. He slides his palms up Cole’s chest and runs his thumbs over Cole’s nipples. When Cole reacts, he sits up enough to flick one with his tongue, something Cole really, _really_ likes and doesn’t get nearly enough. One of his hands slides around to squeeze Cole’s ass, and when Cole gets close, he dips his fingers between Cole's cheeks and presses one against his rim. Between Whitton's fingers and tongue and Cole’s own hand, he doesn't last long. He stripes Whitton’s chest, gasping, quiet more out of habit than necessity.

“That was so hot,” Whitton says from below him. Cole sits back and Whitton looks down at himself. “Nice.”

Cole laughs. “God, Whitton, you are a piece of work.”

“Bro, my dick was just in your mouth. Call me Taylor.”

“Taylor,” Cole repeats. “I'm really glad Curtis brought you tonight.”

“Yeah, same.” Whitton sits up and reaches for a tissue to clean himself off with. “I guess it could be kind of weird, like, hey, I know you're both into dick, so let me introduce you and maybe you’ll hit it off. But he also knows I'm kind of fucking my way through the league, so.”

Cole’s eyes widen. “You're… are you serious?”

Whitton grins. “Yeah. I have a theory that there's at least one dude on every roster who’s not totally straight. So far, so good.”

“Well, you found the one dude on this roster.” Cole shakes his head, incredulous. “I'm pretty sure, anyway. Not like I’m out to anybody on this team, though.”

“Really?” Whitton looks genuinely surprised. “Not even your best buddy?”

“Nope.” Cole doesn't have a best buddy, and certainly no one on the team would qualify if he did. “So… some of the guys on your team know?”

“All of them know. I came out to the whole team right before a game. Not the best move, but I got a hatty that night, so what were they gonna say?” He shrugs, his grin lopsided and adorable, and so, so confident. 

Cole is so, so envious.

“So… you need to kick me out, or you think we might go again in a bit?” He raises his eyebrows.

Cole laughs. “Want a drink first?”

“Got more beer?”

“Of course.”

A few orgasms later, Cole puts Whitton in a cab just in time for him to make curfew. Whitton is so free and open with his sexuality, and it's making Cole think a little. 

He’s 30 years old, and he still sneaks around like a teenager. He's never had a real boyfriend — not anyone who would put up with him during the season anyway — and he's never officially come out to anyone in the hockey side of his life.

Maybe things are changing in the world. Maybe he could tell somebody, make things a little easier. If he just had someone to cover for him every now and then, it would make a big difference.

***

He’s so, so wrong. 

The game is rough. The guys seem to know something too, are going after Whitton like bullies in a schoolyard. Every time someone calls Whitton a fag or a cocksucker, it hits Cole in the chest, like his teammates are saying it to _him_. He’s not making eye contact with anyone, is afraid that if he looks up they’ll be looking right back at him. 

It's not like he hasn’t heard this shit before, every other day for the last 20 years, but today it stings more than usual. It's _his_ guys who are are saying this shit, to a guy Cole knows is actually gay, to a guy Cole had sex with last night. His guys, guys he’s spent years on a team with, guys he always thought would have his back, are going after Whitton like they _know_. 

He's on the ice when the worst of it happens, when Middy outright boards Whitton, then gets in a fistfight first with Zimmermann (!) and then with Rollins. And he hears the shit Middy says, and he stands there and says nothing, feels his stomach twist like it's about him.

It is about him.

That is how his teammates would feel about him. That's the shit they would say if they knew. Middy’d look at him like that, would hurl the same vile shit at Cole, would mean it just as much. And if they weren't teammates, Middy would hit Cole just as hard, just like the kids at school did on the playground, like the guys he played hockey with would say, like— 

Cole is shaking when he gets off the ice after that shift. Middy gets a game misconduct and he's not coming back. The crowd boos and the guys around him gripe about it being overblown, and all Cole can hear is _he deserved it, he doesn’t belong here, we’d do it again_. A fucking hate crime happened right in front of him, and they called it hockey.

Cole might throw up on his skates.

“Hey, you good?” 

Cole looks up: Karlsson is watching him. He looks worried, but worse, he looks suspicious.

“Fine, Cap,” Cole lies. “Just a little… fine.”

Karlsson looks unconvinced. Cole doesn't look at him anymore.

He does throw up during the second intermission, then sits in his stall and tries to pull it together. He doesn't realize he's shaking until Karlsson sits next to him and puts a hand on his wrist.

“Easy,” he says. “You okay, man?”

Cole shrugs. 

“Look… Mids was out of line. I'm gonna handle it, okay?”

Cole doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't know how Karlsson could possibly handle it, how anyone could do anything to change the fact that some of Cole’s teammates would hate him if they knew. Would despise him, would take a swing at him as soon as look at him, would—

“Easy,” Karlsson says again. “Breathe.”

Cole does, one breath in, one out, count of five between. Fuck, everyone's probably looking at him now. They probably all know. Why else would he be upset? Shit shitshit.

“I'm gonna handle it, okay?” Karlsson’s voice is low, quiet, soothing. “That was some fucked up shit, and everyone knows it.”

Cole looks up at him then. Karlsson’s face is sympathetic, concerned. Cole doesn't know what Karlsson thinks he knows. He isn’t sure he wants to.

He exhales, and tries to get his head back in the game. 

They lose in the end, and Cole privately is glad. He hates losing as much as the next guy, but he doesn’t want any of them to be rewarded for this.

The guys are quiet after, most of them ready to put this one behind them. Coach says as much, and the guys nod along, then quietly grumble to each other about how much the whole thing sucked. 

There’s some quiet murmuring between Karlsson and one of the coaches, and then everyone who isn’t team clears out. 

All the guys look at each other, but no one says anything. Cap cleared the room, and they all know what it means.

“Guys,” Karlsson says, and everyone sits, turns to look at him. He fixes them all with a steady gaze, then presses his lips together. “What happened out there tonight — not the fight or even the hit, but the shit some of us were saying out there — we’re better than that. Chirping guys on the ice is one thing, but I heard some shit that I never want to hear again. I’ll talk to management about it if I have to, but I’d rather deal with it in the room.” He pauses and looks around again. Everyone is quiet, almost solemn. “I don’t care what your personal feelings are about people who are gay, but you keep it out of the game. We are fucking professionals, and we’re going to act like it. Understood?”

Cole hears a rumbling of _yes, cap_ around him, adds his voice to the mix too, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t want to know if anyone is looking at him. He doesn’t want to be here any longer than he has to. He just wants to go home.

He manages to leave without having to talk to anyone. He closes his door behind him, cracks open a beer, and sits in the dark with it. 

His phone buzzes, and it’s a while before he can bring himself to look.

_**Curtis:** His shoulder is fucked up, prob a few games. He wanted me to ask if ur ok? _

Cole puts his phone down, and finally lets himself cry. He cries himself out, sobs that shake his body, that make his chest ache. And then it passes, just as quickly as it came on, like he needed the release more than anything else. 

He takes deep breaths, tries to clear his mind, then goes to wash his face and blow his nose. He settles on the couch again after and picks up his phone. He finally takes a sip of his beer, and taps out a reply to Curtis.

 _Tell him I will be_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik Karlsson is the real-life captain of the Ottawa Senators, and is a good and decent person by all accounts I've ever heard.


	15. Kevin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during chapters 8-[15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15118081), omc pov, Kevin’s story, rated E, so much angst, 6500 words

Kevin really wasn't planning on hooking up with anyone anytime soon, and especially not at a Hockey Haus party. Honestly, he's got standards.

Adam from his Econ class has been trying to get him to come over and hang out for a month now, and Kevin has said no every time. His reason for saying no is no longer speaking to him, though, so Kevin supposes he might as well try something new.

He arrives around 9:00, and the party is in full swing. It's such a typical frat party, with an incredible amount of alcohol being consumed and straight couples hanging all over each other. He thinks the couple in the corner is actually having sex, but he’s not going to stare.

Bradley would have hated this whole scene, would have stood in a corner and judged every person in here, then judged Kevin twice for bringing him at all. Kevin pours himself a beer straight from the keg and tries to imagine the look on Bradley’s face if a picture of Kevin playing beer pong with hockey bros were to end up in _The Swallow_.

“Keviiiiin!” Adam appears at his side and wraps one arm around Kevin’s shoulders. He’s loud and smells like tequila. “Bro, you made it!”

Bradley’s eyeroll would have been _epic_. Kevin grins at that thought, and lets Adam drag him around, introduce him to a bunch of different guys Kevin assumes are Adam’s teammates. All of them give him some sort of welcoming fist bump. A few guys he knows from the swim team are here too, which surprises him. Adam seems to know everyone, though, is that kind of every-bro, remembers the names of everyone he’s ever met. Kevin is intending to go hang out with the guys he knows over in the corner when Adam steers him in the opposite direction.

“And this,” he says in a conspiratorial tone, “is Bitty.”

Adam has talked about Bitty a lot during the last month. Like, “You should really meet Bitty,” and “Bitty made this amazing pie and you have to come over and try it,” and “I know you're dating somebody, but Bitty would _so_ be your type.” When Kevin made the mistake of admitting he and Bradley had just broken up, Adam got a gleam in his eye that was frankly disturbing. 

So yeah, Kevin got the message: Adam really wants to set him up with his friend Bitty, apparently the only openly gay player on the Samwell Men’s Hockey team.

Bitty turns out to be a really cute guy, much to Kevin’s surprise. He doesn't look at all like most of the hockey players Kevin’s ever known. (He's from Buffalo, and he played some casually as a kid, but dropped it and every other sport when he had to get serious about swimming.) Bitty’s short, for one thing: the top of his head barely comes to Kevin’s shoulder. He’s really thin too, in a way that makes Kevin wonder how he manages to stay on his feet when guys with 60 pounds on him smash into him on the ice. He must be a great player, and that piques Kevin’s interest as much as anything else.

He tries to strike up a conversation, but Bitty gets drawn away by a large crashing sound coming from the kitchen. He apologizes and dashes away, and Kevin wanders off to find his teammates instead.

A couple of hours later, he sees Bitty again. He looks pretty frazzled, like the party is getting on his last nerve. Kevin watches him pour himself a beer from the keg and slip out the back door, looking around first like he doesn’t want anyone to follow him. Kevin should leave well enough alone, but that's a look he kind of knows, like Bitty really needs to talk to someone, but thinks no one here will get it.

Kevin’s a member of Samwell’s LGBT Athletes’ Association, and he’s done a lot of peer counseling in the last year. He can only imagine what kind of shit an openly gay hockey player would have to deal with. He frowns, looks around again, and follows. 

Bitty's sitting on the steps of the back porch when Kevin gets outside, arms wrapped around himself. It's chilly, but not terribly cold, even feels good out after the crowd-induced heat inside.

“Mind if I join you?” Kevin asks.

Bitty looks up at him and shrugs. “Sure, okay.”

Kevin sits. “So we met earlier? I'm Kevin, Adam’s friend.”

“Oh, right! From the swim team. Sorry, I'm usually better at remembering people's names. Just a little tired tonight.”

“He calls you Bitty, right?”

Bitty nods, and Kevin waits. After a full second, Bitty winces a little.

“Lord, where are my manners? My mama would be so ashamed.” He holds out a hand. “I'm Eric Bittle. Bitty’s a team nickname.”

Kevin’s already charmed by his accent. He hadn’t heard it earlier, somehow. “Nice to meet you, Eric.” 

“So what brings you out here when the party's in there?”

There are a few different ways he could answer that question. He could be cool, pretend he was just coming out for some fresh air. He could say he was curious about what the backyard of this house looked like. Hell, he could say he’s taking astronomy and needed to look at the night sky for an assignment. He's feeling a little rebellious tonight, though, like doing something wild. Something that would piss Bradley off. 

“Honestly? You.”

Eric's eyes widen, then he flushes adorably. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Kevin shrugs. “Adam said he had this cute friend I should meet, and he was definitely right about the cute part, so here I am, meeting you.”

Eric smiles. “Oh, you're _that_ Kevin. Yeah, he's mentioned you.” Eric's gaze slides over him, lingers a little on the tattoos on his arms. “He, uh… said you were my type.”

“Am I?”

Eric laughs, a little shyly, and Kevin finds himself entranced. Eric looks away, bites his lower lip and seems to think for a moment. After a few seconds, he looks up, as if he’s made a decision. “Yeah, you really are.”

Kevin smiles, feels his cheeks heat. He never flirts with strangers like this, hasn't for a long time. He was with Bradley for almost two years, and he never had a reason to look anywhere else.

Well, that isn’t true anymore, is it?

“So, we’re both each other’s type. What now?” He raises his eyebrows.

Eric’s mouth opens and closes again. “I have no idea. I mean—” He presses his hands over his face for a moment, and when he drops them again, he’s grinning. “Sorry, I’m really terrible at this.”

Kevin laughs. “God, me too.” 

“I guess we’re just gonna sit here until one of us makes a move, then.” 

They stare at each other for a a few seconds, the tension almost delicious. Kevin can’t remember the last time he felt like this, like something exciting was about to happen. 

“Um,” Eric says, and scoots a few inches closer. “There. Your move.”

“Okay.” Kevin leans in and tilts his head. Eric’s mouth is _right there_ , lips curved in a soft smile, waiting for Kevin to close the distance. Kevin does, presses his lips against Eric’s in a soft, closed-mouth kiss. Eric goes still against him and inhales sharply through his nose. Kevin kisses him again, and again, then swipes his tongue against the seam of Eric’s lips. Eric opens to him with a soft sound and melts against him.

It's good — really good — but it’s weird to kiss someone new for the first time in a very long time. Eric kisses nothing like Bradley did, and is more enthusiastic about it, maybe a little wetter. He scoots even closer, slides an arm around Kevin's waist, and Kevin stops thinking about Bradley altogether.

They make out on the steps for a while, and it's nice. Kevin doesn't know if it's going to go any further, but even if it doesn't, it feels like he's taking a step here, moving on. It's good.

“Hey,” Eric says a bit later, sitting back a little. 

Kevin chases his mouth again, not really wanting to stop just yet. “Hay is for horses.”

“Shut up,” Eric says, grinning. “Who even says that?”

“I just did.” Kevin kisses under Eric’s jaw.

Eric slides his fingers into Kevin’s hair. “So, uh, you wanna, like… maybe… go upstairs?”

Okay, wow. Kevin sits back at that, blinks at him.

Eric’s smile fades a little. “Or… not. Sorry.”

“No! I mean, yes, I do. I just…” He sighs. “Sorry. I just had a bad breakup, and it's been a while.”

“Oh, right.” Eric’s expression is sympathetic. “I’ve got some weird shit going on right now too, to be honest. We don't have to do anything. We could just talk, if you want.”

Kevin would like to talk, but he'd also like to get off with someone he has no emotional baggage with. That sounds like a great idea right now.

“I do want to, I… I mean, you’re…” Is it creepy to say _you’re so hot I really want to suck your dick_? Do people do that outside of porn? Kevin has no idea. He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly flustered. “Maybe we could do both?” 

“Both, okay.” Eric smiles again, then stands and holds out his hand. “Come on, then.”

Kevin sees Adam grinning and giving him a big thumbs-up as they're heading up the stairs. Kevin flips him off, and Adam laughs.

Eric takes him to a room Kevin quickly realizes is his bedroom, and his first thought is that this room is a hell of a lot nicer than the rest of the house. There are gorgeous curtains, for one thing, and the bedspread matches them, which, nice. His second thought is that he has that same poster of Beyonce in his bedroom in his apartment. He’s going to say something about that, but Eric sits on the bed and looks up at him in this way that’s simultaneously shy and inviting, and Kevin suddenly wants him so much. 

He sits on the bed next to Eric, and glances around the room. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” 

They stare at each other for another moment, then Eric leans in and kisses him. It’s quickly heated, already more hot and heavy than they were outside. Kevin slides a hand inside Eric’s shirt, fingers brushing warm skin and — holy hell, his abs feel _insane_. He tugs the hem of the shirt up, and Eric takes the hint and pulls it over his head. 

Kevin’s derailed completely for several seconds. Eric’s abs are amazing, and Kevin kind of wants to lick them. He ducks down to do just that, and Eric twists away, laughing. 

“Come on, you too,” he says, looking pointedly at Kevin’s chest.

“Okay.” Kevin sits back and takes his shirt off, drops it to the floor. Eric’s already-large eyes get even wider, and Kevin grins. Swimming has sculpted his upper body over the years, for sure. 

“Come here,” Eric says in a tone that's almost awed. 

It moves kind of fast from there. They kiss a little more, then Eric pushes him back on the bed and slides down between his thighs. Kevin gasps at that — Bradley only gave head after he’d gotten it — and helps Eric get his pants off. 

“Um,” Eric says, when he’s eye-level with Kevin’s dick. “I've never seen a foreskin up close, so you might have to give me some pointers here.”

“It’s honestly not all that different,” Kevin tells him. “Just some extra stuff to play with.” 

Eric figures it out pretty fast, and it’s really, _really_ good.

“Hey, let me have a turn,” Kevin says after a few minutes, when he’s really close and not ready to come yet. He knows it's just a hookup, but he hasn't had sex with anyone who wasn't Bradley in a very long time. Sex with Bradley was basically just quick mutual handjobs by the end, so there's a lot Kevin wants to try, stuff he was afraid to ask Bradley for. 

He gets Eric’s pants off and _holy hell_ , how had he forgotten about hockey players’ thighs and asses? Eric has amazing thighs, and an ass Kevin wants to bite. He kind of wants to eat him out, but that's not a thing you spring on a guy who wasn't expecting to get any tonight. 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” he asks. 

Eric looks a little surprised. “Um, sure?”

“You have any lube?” 

Eric reaches into a a drawer by the bed and hands him a bottle. “So how do you, uh, want me to…?”

“Hands and knees,” Kevin says, because he wants a view of that glorious ass for this.

Kevin spreads lube on himself while Eric settles on the bed. He looks back at Kevin over his shoulder. “So how exactly does this work?”

“All you have to do is squeeze.” He presses the head of his dick into the space just below Eric’s ass, and thrusts experimentally, then pauses to add a bit more lube. “Let me know if it's not working for you and I'll change it up, okay?”

He starts slowly, making sure he's nudging his dick up behind Eric’s balls as he moves. He must hit it just right a few times in a row, because Eric gasps a little and says, “Oh.”

“That a good _oh_?” 

“Yeah, like… I wasn't sure what the appeal was, but I'm starting to get it now.” 

“Can you squeeze a little tighter for— oh, yeah, like that.”

Between the amazing view of Eric’s ass and the tight slickness around his dick every time his thrusts, it doesn't take much longer. Kevin closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Eric’s back when he comes. 

“Wow,” Eric says when he flips over. “That was surprisingly hot.”

“No surprise here.” Kevin eyes Eric’s still-hard dick with interest. He's got Kevin’s come all over his balls, coating his pubic hair, and it's going to be a bitch to clean up. “Sorry about the mess.”

“You could get me messier, if you want.” It sounds filthy, coming out of that sweet mouth, with that accent. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Kevin blows him for a few minutes, then works a finger into him slowly. He's gorgeous like this, thick thighs spread and ass clenching when Kevin strokes in just right. Kevin wonders what it would be like to fuck him. He probably won't get the chance, but hey, a guy can dream.

He finishes Eric off with a hand on his dick and two fingers inside him, and Eric comes so hard he's shaking afterward. 

“Oh my god,” he says, hands pressed over his face. “I am so glad you followed me outside.”

“I'm glad I followed you upstairs.”

Eric exhales, like he's trying to catch his breath. “Okay, if you still want to talk, I'm totally up for it, but I need to sneak off to the bathroom and clean up first.”

“Yeah,” Kevin says. “That'd be great.”

They talk for a solid hour, sitting cross-legged on Eric’s bed, half-dressed. Kevin tells him about Bradley, how they'd been together for a long time, but Bradley had never really dealt with Kevin’s schedule well.

“It's early morning practices and weekends gone to swim meets, and when I'm here, I'm catching up on course work. He always wanted to go clubbing and stay out half the night. And I could do that every now and then, but not every weekend, you know?”

“Lord, that sounds stressful. I’ve never dated anyone who wasn’t an athlete, who didn’t get that you have to put the team first a lot of times, even ahead of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, feeling a strange sense of relief. This is something he’s talked about with teammates before, who often have the same problems with the people they date, but it's nice to get validation from someone he's only just met. “We fought all the time in the end. I was tired of it being my fault that we could never do anything fun. We ended it kind of mutually, but mostly with a huge fuckin’ fight.”

“That really sucks. I'm sorry.”

“It does suck, god. I just… I miss him, even though I’m really fucking pissed at him. You know?”

Eric sighs. “Yeah, I know.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“So… what about you?”

Eric hesitates, pressing his lips together. “You ever have a huge crush on a straight friend?”

Kevin snorts. “Who hasn't?”

“Yeah, well, I was extra dumb about it.”

He tells the story, that he fell hard for a good friend, a former teammate who's now graduated but still lives nearby, a guy Eric's pretty sure is straight, but who still flirts with him just enough to keep him guessing.

“Sorry, but that guy sounds like a total asshole,” Kevin says. “Who does that?”

Eric groans and flops back onto the bed. “I _know_. But he can be so sweet, you know? We talk all the time, and it's almost intimate, like… like he wants more, but just when I think that's where it's going, he freezes me out again.”

“You really need to get over this guy. You have so much going for you, you know?”

“I really don't.” Eric sounds miserable.

“I'm serious. You're super cute, a great guy, fun to talk to, and a fantastic hockey player.”

Eric snorts at that, and Kevin pokes him in the side with a finger. 

“Adam says that, and I believe him.” 

Eric shrugs, but he looks a little bit pleased now.

“You’re hot as hell, Eric. Great body, amazing ass.” Kevin leans in and nuzzles Eric’s throat. “And I know my experience is limited, but you’re pretty fucking amazing in bed, too. That was the best beej I’ve ever gotten.”

“Really?” Eric sounds surprised.

“Definitely. And you have to know what you look like. Half the guys on this campus would jump at the chance to fuck you.” 

Eric giggles at that, then sighs. “So why doesn't he see me like that?”

Kevin stretches out beside him on the bed. It's a tight squeeze. “Because he's straight, honey. You really want to be his gay experiment, then get your heart broken when he decides he doesn’t like dick after all?”

Eric closes his eyes. “No.”

“Look, I get it. I’ve been there, a long time ago, and it’s not worth it.” They’re both quiet for a few seconds. “And even when the guy is gay, it’s not like that’s any guarantee. I was so fucking in love with Bradley, even when he was a raging asshole. Which he was a lot, to be honest. But in the end, he didn't love me as much as he loved himself. I wasn't important enough for him make an effort, and that really sucked.”

“Do you still love him?”

Kevin sighs. “Yeah. I mean, I'm trying not to, but it's hard.”

Eric reaches for his hand and entwines their fingers. Kevin squeezes his hand and smiles up at the ceiling.

“I kinda want to go again,” Eric says at last, “but I'm also exhausted.”

Kevin smiles. “Rain check?”

“Give me your phone.” Eric holds out his hand. 

Kevin has to find his pants on the floor first, but he hands over his phone. Eric adds himself in the contacts. When he hands it back, Kevin sends him a quick text: [eggplant] [rain emoji] [check mark]

Eric laughs.

***

Kevin tries to wait — he really does — but by the next evening, he's thinking about when he can see Eric again. He texts, and it turns out they both have a free hour and a half on Monday afternoon. They meet at Kevin’s apartment and exchange blow jobs, then alternately make out and talk until Eric has to go to class.

Eric messages him that night to see if he wants to meet on Tuesday. They just have coffee in the end, because they don't have time for anything else, but they plan to meet on Wednesday. 

Kevin’s heading home for Thanksgiving that day, but he decides he can delay his drive by a couple of hours. He tells his parents he's got a meeting with a professor, and they just tell him to drive carefully, since he'll be hitting the traffic at the worst possible time. 

He meets Eric at the Haus, which seems to be empty. Eric’s hair is still wet from the shower, and when he takes him upstairs, he says, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Kevin's dick chubs up so fast he feels a little light-headed. “Okay, yeah, I… oh, god.”

They kiss for about a minute, but they're both clearly anxious to get to it. Eric says he's done this before, and Kevin’s glad. He knows now that Eric’s only been with one guy before him, and that they broke up pretty recently. Eric doesn't seem too hung up on that ex, but Kevin knows the guy was a little bit of a jerk in bed, and he doesn't want to remind Eric of him, obviously. 

Eric watches him roll the condom on with more than a little fascination (“I like it better like this,” Kevin tells him, “because it moves with my foreskin more”) and shyly asks if he can be on top.

Kevin’s enthusiastic, because that's something Bradley was never into. (He's really going to stop thinking about Bradley during sex, any day now.) Eric straddles his thighs and lowers himself slowly onto Kevin’s dick, and _wow_. 

“Wow,” he says when Eric’s settled on his thighs, breathing a little strained. “You feel fucking amazing.”

“So do you,” Eric says. “A little bigger than my ex, so gimme a moment.”

Like Kevin’s gonna complain after a comment like that.

Kevin tries, but he doesn't last long once Eric starts moving. It's been a while, and it feels so fucking good, and at this point, he's pretty confident it won't be his only chance.

He blows Eric after, slow and long, with three fingers inside him, and Eric comes in his mouth. They'd decided they were both comfortable with that after talking about their sexual histories, and it's… nice. It's comfortable, this friends-with-benefits things they're doing. It feels easy, and easy is something he needs right now.

Thanksgiving is good. He enjoys spending time with his family when he only sees them every few months, and this weekend is no exception. His mom and big sister baby him a lot over the breakup, and he takes advantage, more than he probably should. They take him shopping on Friday and buy him a pair of shoes he's had his eye on for a while, and let him drink wine though he's still a couple of months from turning 21.

“You'll find someone else,” his mom tells him. “Handsome guy like you, I'll bet the boys line right up.”

“Ew, mom!” Kelly says, and Mom blushes.

“I didn't mean it like _that_!”

”Oh my god, please stop,” Kevin groans, face in his hands. He's not going to date anyone seriously anytime soon, he tells them. He's just going to enjoy his senior year, have some fun.

“Good,” Mom says, patting his hand. “But use condoms.”

“ _Mom_.”

He's planning to drive back early on Sunday morning to miss the worst of the traffic. He knows Eric stayed in town for the weekend and cooked a big meal for the guys on his team who didn't travel for the holiday. He texts him to see if he wants to get together tomorrow, but it's late, so he doesn't expect an answer.

There's a response when he gets up the next morning: _I assume this is a booty call? [winky face]_

_You bet your sweet ass it is [peach emoji]_

Eric comes over around 4:00, hours before Kevin’s roommates are due back. He’s in a strange mood, though, and the sex is needy, almost rough. 

“You okay?” Kevin asks afterward.

Eric is staring at the ceiling. “Yes. No. I don't know.”

“Did I…”

“No, it’s not you. I just…” He takes a deep breath, releases it slowly. “I spent the weekend with him. With Jack.”

“The one who…”

“Yeah. And it was… I don't know, really confusing? Like, he practically took me on a date, then got super jealous when I talked about you.”

Kevin opens his mouth and closes it again. He kind of wants to know what Eric said about him to this guy, who now has a name. _Jack._ Sounds like an asshole.

“And then he froze me out again, like always. But then, after the game that night, we all went out and like, he got jealous _again_ when I hung out with one of his teammates, then was all fucking handsy with me after he'd been drinking.” Eric groans. “I woke up in his _bed_ , Kevin. What kind of idiot does that?”

“Whoa, wait — did you sleep with him?”

“No! I mean, I literally fell asleep in his bed, and then he got in too, later. I woke up next to him. He was almost naked!”

“And nothing happened, seriously?”

“No, because he's probably straight and I'm a complete idiot who's reading too much into every little thing.” Eric's hands are over his face.

Kevin shakes his head, opens his mouth to say something about what an asshole this Jack is, and—

Wait.

Oh, shit.

“Hang on, is Jack… Jack Zimmermann?”

Eric doesn't answer, but his silence is all Kevin needs to piece it together. 

Jack Zimmermann, former captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team, now star forward for the Providence Falconers. Of course — he and Eric were teammates, even lived in the Haus together. 

Holy shit.

“Eric, listen—”

“I know, okay? I know I've been an idiot, and I know I need to get over him. I just… I thought I could still be his friend and not let it hurt me, but after this weekend, I can't. I can't do it anymore.” He sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

Kevin reaches for him without even thinking, pulls him in close. Eric shakes against him, and Kevin just rubs his back, presses his cheek against Eric’s head. 

“We make a pair, don't we? You're hung up on a straight NHL star and I'm still in love with my asshole ex.”

“We should just date each other. Serve us right.”

Kevin snickers. “I'm not really in a good place to be anyone's boyfriend right now, but if I was, I'd lock you down in a heartbeat.”

“Full same.” Eric sniffles and is quiet for a moment. “But maybe… I mean, we could.”

“Could what?”

“Date.” Eric’s face is still pressed into Kevin’s chest: “Just casually, to see how it goes, you know? We already hang out together a lot, and I'm not interested in hooking up with anyone else.”

Kevin’s heart is pounding loudly enough that he's sure Eric can heat it. This is a terrible idea. Neither of them are in a good emotional place right now, and they're both busy, and it's going to be a disaster, probably. 

But still, he _likes_ Eric. Even though it's really new, they're good together. The sex is great too, and he's been happier these last few weeks than he was in the last six months of his relationship with Bradley. 

“Say something,” Eric says.

Kevin takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eric pulls back, looks up at him. 

“Yeah,” Kevin replies, before he can change his mind. Eric kisses him, and Kevin pushes away the voice in the back of his head that says this feels a big mistake.

***

So they're dating, with everything that entails. They hang out together a lot, are heavily featured in each other's Instagram accounts, and bang on the regular. Eric comes over one night when a bunch of the guys from the swim team are there, feeds them all homemade pie and gets introduced as the guy Kevin’s dating. Everyone important to them knows, and it's good.

They go to Winter Screw together, and it’s a lot of fun. Kevin had been dreading going, not looking forward to seeing Bradley there looking snide and happy without him. Bradley still looks snide, but not particularly happy to see Kevin with Eric. He’s even more unhappy when Kevin introduces Eric as his boyfriend. Eric smiles and kisses Kevin on the cheek, and pretends he doesn’t have a clue who Bradley is or why Kevin knows him, as if Kevin’s never even mentioned him. Bradley goes red at that, clearly angry and embarrassed, and it’s amazing. 

“Too much?” Eric asks when Bradley stomps away. 

“God, no.” It’s all Kevin can do not to grin.

“I just wanted him to see you're moving on, you know?”

Kevin leans down to kiss him properly. “Thank you.” 

He is moving on.

They have a lot of sex. A lot of really great sex, actually, playful and fun. They experiment a little, do things they’ve heard about but haven’t tried before. Some of that turns out to be really hot, and some of it just weird and awkward, but it’s easy. 

With every day that passes, Eric seems a little happier. Kevin’s happy too, happy enough that he starts thinking maybe this casual dating thing could turn into something real, something lasting. That’s a scary thought too, because he told himself he wasn’t going to get too invested, wasn’t going to let himself fall for anyone so quickly. 

Eric would be really easy to fall in love with, and that scares the hell out of him.

Christmas is coming up, and Kevin realizes he should probably get Eric a present. He’s not really sure if they’re at small present status or nice present status or what. He’s tooling around online when he should be studying, and clicks on an ad, which leads him to buying discounted tickets to an upcoming Falconers game. Eric likes hockey, obviously, and he’s a big fan of the Falconers, and they’re both free that night. 

Almost immediately, he has second thoughts. And third thoughts, because seriously, his gift is to go to the professional sports game of the guy his boyfriend is still basically into, so they can spend three hours watching him be awesome? And then most likely meet up with the guy after, because there’s no way that’s not happening. The fuck was he thinking? 

Of course, it could work the other way too. If Jack sees them together, if Eric can make it clear he’s with Kevin now, it could be a good thing. Bradley barely looks at him now when they see each other in passing, like he got the message when he saw Eric and Kevin together.

Eric’s genuinely excited about the tickets, gives Kevin a huge hug and kisses him in a way that feels like there's a lot behind it. He made Eric happy, and it feels good.

The game is kind of a disaster, which Kevin feels vindictively pleased about. They are indeed meeting Jack after the game, and the last thing Kevin needed was for Jack to like, score the game winner, then hand the puck to Eric as some twisted token of his affection.

It's not like that. 

It's worse.

The moment Eric sees Jack, he practically leaps into his arms. He introduces Kevin, then promptly forgets about him, spends a good ten minutes basking in Jack’s presence. Jack is eating it up, too, giving Kevin these smug little glances the whole time, and it's so obvious what he’s doing. Kevin’s nails are digging into his fists by the time Jack gives Eric one more lingering hug and then fucking _kisses_ him on the cheek.

Who does that? Who openly flirts with someone in front of their boyfriend, and then kisses them? And what kind of boyfriend _lets_ them?

Kevin’s quiet on the train ride back. He's angry at himself, angry at Jack, and angry at Eric. He's stupid, so damn stupid, and he's going to get his heart broken.

“What?” Eric says when they're finally walking towards campus, in the dark. He’s been quiet too, but in a way that seems annoyed more than anything else.

“You're still hung up on him,” Kevin grits out. “And he's still playing you.”

Eric gapes at him for a moment, clearly surprised. “Kevin—”

“No, don't.” Kevin stops walking, turns to face him. “Don't lie to me. You've been talking to him again, haven't you?”

Eric sighs, then nods.

“So where does that leave me?” His voice breaks a little as he says it, and he hates it, but he can't do this anymore. “I like you, Eric. I really do, and I want us to be together. I want you to tell Jack Zimmermann to go fuck himself because you have a boyfriend. I want…” He stops then, because he really is going to cry if he continues making a fool of himself. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eric says, and pulls him into a hug. Kevin doesn’t want to be hugged right now, but he also kind of does. He’s so confused right now, and it sucks. “I'm sorry. I didn't… it was a crazy few days, with Taylor getting injured. He needed to talk about some stuff going on with the team, and some really personal shit he can’t talk to anyone else about, and I listened, okay? I know it's fucked up, but he's still my friend, and I just… oh, god.”

He sounds so sad, and Kevin hates it. He hates it when Jack makes him sad, but this time, it’s Kevin’s fault. Right now, Kevin’s the one making him sad. Kevin’s the one who let his feelings grow out of control, and Kevin’s the one who’s going to pay for it in the end.

“Shit.” He wipes his eyes and pulls out of Eric’s arms, takes a step backward. “Look, Eric, I need to know how what you want from me. If you just want to be friends, say so. But I… I can't sleep with you anymore if you don't actually want to be with me. I just can't do that to myself.”

Eric looks at him, stricken. “Kevin—”

“Just, please — don't answer right now. Think about it. I know you're going on a roadie tomorrow, so like, text me when you get back. Okay?”

Eric nods, stuffs his hands in his pockets. He's still wearing Jack’s jersey, which… ugh. Kevin hates Jack Zimmermann right now, so much.

He gestures in the direction of his apartment. “I'm going this way. Good night.”

“Good night,” Eric replies, voice small.

It's a long walk home alone.

***

“So,” Eric says, sitting across from him in the cafe.

Kevin swallows, looks down. He’s pretty sure he’s about to be broken up with. He’s been sure of that for the last three days. “So.”

“First, I really like you, okay? You’re so amazing, in so many ways.” He pauses, and Kevin waits for the _but_ he knows is coming. Eric looks down at the coffee cup in front of him, and sighs. “But you know I’m still pretty fucked up over Jack, and I’m not just going to get over that overnight.” 

“Yeah,” Kevin says, stomach somewhere around his knees now. “I know.”

“And you’ve helped me with that a lot, you know? When I’m with you, I don’t think about him.”

“What about when you’re not with me?” He tries to make it sound like a joke, but it doesn’t come across that way.

Eric looks up again. “I know I need to put some space between him and me, but I’m not going to cut him off completely. I just… he’s one of my best friends. And he doesn’t really have many other friends, not people he really trusts. He told me his worst fear was losing my friendship, and he doesn’t want to do anything to fuck that up.”

It sounds like Jack wants to keep Eric hanging on the line, wants Eric thirsting after him even though he’s never going to give him what he wants. It wouldn’t be helpful to say that right now, though. Not yet, anyway. Not until Kevin finds out where he stands here. 

“So… what about me? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want to try, with you.”

Kevin breathes in, breathes out again. That is so not what he was expecting here. “You want to try,” he repeats. “And if Jack calls you tomorrow and tells you he wants to be with you?”

Eric’s expression is strained. “That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it did?”

Eric hesitates, presses his lips together. “It’s not going to happen, and I need to let go of the idea that it might, no matter what Jack does or says. I have to move on, for real.”

It’s not the answer Kevin wants, by a long shot. It sounds more like _I’m going to use you to get over the guy I’m in love with_ than _I am genuinely into you_ , and that stings. But Kevin kind of did the same, didn’t he? He jumped head-first into dating Eric to help him get over Bradley. It worked, probably too well.

So is this what he wants? Does he risk putting his heart on the line for a guy he’s pretty sure is not one hundred percent into him — not in the way Kevin knows he deserves, the way he wants — and just enjoy it for what it is? Or does he call it off now, walk away from someone he enjoys being with, someone who’s become a friend, out of fear of where it might not be going?

Relationships don’t have to be headed anywhere to be good, someone once told him. A summer romance with someone you’ll never see again can be life-changing, can help you grow and learn how to love another person, how you want to be loved. Every person who comes into your life, even for a short time, is part of your story, and just because you think the relationship has an expiration date isn’t a reason not to enjoy it while you can.

Maybe it’s not going to be forever, but maybe it’ll be good for a while. Maybe they can make each other happy and help each other move on from the past. Maybe that’s enough. For now.

Kevin takes a deep breath and looks up at Eric. He still has a bad feeling about how this will all turn out, but if Eric says he wants to try, Kevin’s going to believe him.

He manages to smile. “Okay.”

***


	16. Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15118081), Whits POV, Whits/OMC, rated E, 2600 words

Injuries suck.

First there’s the second-guessing, the guilt. Like, if you’d just done one fucking thing differently in that moment, it wouldn’t have happened, and you wouldn’t be dealing with any of this shit. You _knew_ better; you’ve had it drilled into you for years to keep your head up, to be aware of what’s around you. Sure, it was a dirty hit, but if you’d just looked up a second earlier, maybe.

Then reality sets in. All those things you were going to do, all the plans you had — you can’t do any of that shit now, because you’ve only got one usable arm for the next few weeks. No hockey, no lifting of things, no sleeping on your right side. It’s hard to shower, to piss, to dress yourself, to cook, to write your damn name, to wash your hair, to drive — every little thing is suddenly a massive challenge. 

After that, there’s not much you can do but wait for it to get better. 

(The other part of it, he’s not thinking about. He’d gotten a call from Parse a couple of days later, because word had spread pretty fast about what Middleton had said, what he’d done, and how both teams had reacted to it. 

“He’s an irrelevant fucking douchebag,” Parse had said, “and everyone knows it. Every guy I’ve talked to has said that shit wouldn’t fly on their teams, and they’re all gonna make sure it won’t happen again.”

“Wait,” Taylor had said, reeling a little from the fact that Parse was (a) this concerned about him — _him!_ — and (b) had talked to other guys in the league about it. “Who all did you talk to?”

“I’m not saying there’s, like, a phone tree of guys who are concerned about this kinda shit, but… there’s not _not_ one.”

“There’s a phone tree of gay NHL players?” 

“Oh, for— did you hear what I just said?”

Taylor had closed his eyes. “Okay, but—”

“More like… captains. Guys who have leadership roles in their teams.” He’d made an exasperated sound into the phone. “Look, the point is, most guys in this league are decent, okay? Just… remember that, and don’t let the assholes like Middleton get to you.”

Middleton _had_ gotten to him, though, which was how he’d wound up on IR. But everything he’d heard about it after, including from Janssen’s friend Cole, made it sound like it was being taken seriously. Like, Cole has to play with the fucker, and if he said Middleton got a lot of shit for it internally, then, yeah, okay. 

But the point is that _Kent Parson_ had called him about it, to personally tell him not to worry about it. So he hasn’t.)

But the main point here is that Taylor still can’t play, so: injuries suck. 

Tonight he’s watching the game from the press box with the other healthy scratch. It’s not like he’d be able to do any good if he was down there right now, but he feels so helpless watching his guys get their asses kicked. The Caps are a great team under regular circumstances, but they’ve been on an extra hot streak lately, and the Falcs are struggling to make anything happen against them. Zimms is scrambling tonight, but it’s like he’s out of sync. No one else is with him, is reading the plays he’s pulling out of his ass. Taylor can see it all happening, knows exactly what Zimms is trying to do, but he can’t do anything about it. He just has to sit up here and watch Sandborn struggle on Zimms’ wing, somehow getting it wrong more often than he would if he decided which way to go with a goddamn coin flip. 

Zimms finally nets one unassisted midway through the second period, but the Caps get a short-handed goal a few minutes later. Taylor can feel the frustration pouring off the guys on the bench, all the way up here at the top of the arena. He has no idea how watching this shitshow is so much more stressful than being part of it, but somehow it is.

There’s a television break, and he’s got to pee anyway, so he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. The men’s is locked with a big _Out of Order_ sign on the door — of course — but he knows there’s a unisex toilet just down and around the corner. It him takes a bit longer than usual to do his business, but he’s getting better at unfastening his pants one-handed without having to move his injured arm. Washing his hands involves some gymnastics, but he still gets it done.

Just as he’s reaching for the paper towels, someone tries the door from the hallway side.

“Just a sec!” He finishes drying his hands, then opens the door. There’s a guy in a suit standing there, staring back at him with his mouth slightly open. He’s clearly a hockey player: over 6 feet, game day suit stretching at the seams, reddish-blond hair edging awkwardly towards long, like he’s trying to grow it out. He looks to be a couple of years younger than Taylor.

“Whitton, right?” the guy asks. He’s got a slight accent, maybe German. 

“Yeah.” Taylor scans his face, but it’s not ringing a bell. The guy’s obviously a healthy scratch, maybe even a call-up. Taylor can’t remember having watched video on him before, but then, he’d look different in his gear anyway. 

“Elias Vogel,” he says, apparently realizing Taylor has no idea who he is. “17.”

Taylor smiles. “That your age?”

“No.” Elias flushes a little. “That’s my number. I’m a Capital.”

“Chill, I’m kidding,” Taylor replies. 

Elias is cute, he can’t help but notice. He’s got a round face, probably looked younger than he really was until he hit twenty. His eyes are green — no, blue, or maybe something in between. He’s a little taller than Taylor is, broader through the shoulders, and his hands are big too, which… Taylor looks up at his face again, casual, like he wasn’t just checking the guy out. Elias’ lips curl in a tiny smirk though, like he knows exactly what Taylor was just thinking. Interesting. 

Taylor returns the smirk. “You in the press box tonight?”

“Yeah.” Elias shrugs. “Sucks, but it beats playing in Hershey. How’s the shoulder?”

“Getting there. I’m doing some PT, but I haven’t been cleared to get back on the ice yet.” 

“Sucks, man. I mean, good for us tonight that you’re not out there, but.” He smiles, almost cocky. It’s a surprisingly good look on him.

“Ah, you know. It happens. I’ll be back out there soon.”

Elias nods toward the sling holding Taylor’s arm in place and grins. “Hope you’re left-handed.” The innuendo is about as subtle as a brick.

Taylor huffs a laugh. “Nope.”

Not that it’s been a problem for him: it was a little awkward at first, but he was determined, especially after spending a night watching the highlights of the Aces-Schooners game, and Parse’s hat trick. _Lord_. 

“Bro, I feel that. Broke my hand two years ago, couldn’t jerk off for two months.” He looks up and down the hallway, then lowers his voice. “A buddy helped me out, though.” He makes a crude gesture with his hand, just to make sure Taylor gets his meaning.

Taylor’s hooked up with enough random guys by now to know that this isn’t a normal conversation between hockey bros. He’s honestly shocked that the kid is being so forward, here in the arena, in the middle of a game.

But hey, it’s not like he’s never done that. 

Taylor leans in the doorway on his good shoulder, and smiles in the way that usually gets guys dropping their pants for him. “Must be nice to have a buddy like that.” 

“Yeah.” Elias’ smirk shifts a little, and Taylor sees a flash of something like nerves on his face. “You, uh, need a hand with anything?”’

Oh, he is _adorable_. Taylor has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling too widely. “I dunno, maybe. What are you offering?”

Elias glances both ways once more, then steps forward with one hand on Taylor’s chest, giving him a little push. Taylor steps back, and then Elias closes the door behind them and turns the lock. He leans against the door and looks up at Taylor with a mix of awe and excitement, like he can’t believe he just did that.

Taylor can’t really believe it either — he’s usually the one making the move. “Well, now that you’ve got me locked in a bathroom, what are you going to do with me?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

Taylor leans in, cautious until Elias reaches for his tie and tugs him in for a kiss. It’s rough, a little overenthusiastic, but Taylor just rolls with it. He wasn’t expecting anything like this to happen tonight, especially not in the _arena_ — during a _game_ — with a healthy scratch from the opposing team. 

Christ, when did his life become a series of pornos?

Elias doesn’t waste time: he unfastens Taylor’s pants and gets a hand inside, then strokes him until he’s hard and leaking. It’s a crude sort of handjob, but he gets the sense that Elias is used to doing it like this, quick and dirty, hiding in bathrooms and trying not to get caught. He pauses long enough to wet his hand in the sink, which — yeah, that’s kind of a beauty move. Taylor’s gonna remember that next time he hooks up with somebody in a bathroom.

“Yeah, like that,” he says, and sucks lightly on Elias’ neck. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Been thinking about this,” Elias says, voice a little rough. 

“Yeah?” Taylor pants. 

“You’re so hot, fuck. I can’t believe I…”

He trails off, like he was about to say something he didn’t want to say. Taylor kisses him again, sinks into the sensation of a hand on his dick, warm and wet and a little rough, and he’s on the edge within a couple of minutes. 

“Like that, like that, I’m gonna,” he says, and Elias moves to the side just in time to avoid getting his suit splattered.

“Bro,” Elias says, something like awe in his voice.

Taylor hums and kisses him one more time, then lets him rinse his hand in the sink. “Gimme a sec and I’ll get you back.”

“Next time,” Elias says, grinning at him. “I’ve still gotta piss, and I’ve been gone long enough already. Don’t want to get in trouble.”

“No, c’mon, that’s not buddies.” Taylor reaches for him, pulls him into another kiss, and Elias laughs against his lips. 

“Who says we’re buddies?” Elias tucks Taylor’s dick back into his pants and zips him up again. He kisses Taylor again, and it’s full of obvious want. He’s half-hard against Taylor’s thigh, too, and Taylor’s not an asshole.

“You just went out of your way to give me a handie because you felt sorry for me. I think that qualifies.”

“That was a line, dude.” Elias shakes his head, mock exasperated. “I heard you were into dick, so I made a move.” 

Taylor stares back at him, shocked, and Elias seems to realize what he just said. 

“Um, I mean… look, a couple of the guys on the team know I’m gay, and one of them was giving me shit about finally getting to play the Falcs while you were on IR, because I was missing my chance and—”

“Huh,” Taylor says. “Well, I guess you didn’t miss it after all.”

“Yeah, I uh…. was maybe wandering a little far from where I’m s’posed to be anyway, and when you opened the door, I just about lost it, dude.” He ducks his head, clearly embarrassed, and Taylor wants to suck him off just for that. 

“All that trouble and you’re still not gonna let me touch your dick.”

Elias groans. “It’s not because I don’t want it, fuck. If I don’t get back before the end of the frame, I’m gonna be in so much shit.” He reaches up to straighten Taylor’s tie. “Look, we play again in a month. You can get me back then.” 

“Okay,” Taylor says. “But I get to blow you.”

Elias goes very red, which is comical considering he literally just jumped Taylor in a bathroom. “Ah, yeah, okay. We can do that.”

Taylor unlocks the door. “See you then, 17.”

He hears it click locked behind him again as soon as it closes. He heads back toward the press box, lost in thought.

He should probably be more freaked out that so many people know, especially considering what happened in Ottawa. But honestly, it’s worked to his advantage so far, in ways he couldn’t have imagined a few months ago. He’s gotten so many texts of support, guys telling him to hang in there, that everyone knows it was a dirty hit, that he’ll be back on the ice in no time. Most of them haven’t mentioned the rest of it, what Middleton said after. Hell, not even Zimms would tell him what Middleton said when they dropped gloves. (He heard about it anyway.) But a couple of the guys he’s hooked up with have reached out and told him guys like Middleton are few and far between, to let it roll off his back. And he has, he _is_. Mostly.

He hears the goal horn just as he rounds the corner to the door of the press box, followed by the collective groan of the crowd. Sounds like he didn’t miss much.

“You get lost or something?” Beaker asks when he sits back down. He’s scratched like every other game lately, but he doesn’t seem bitter about it. 

“Had to take a dump,” Taylor tells him. “You ever had to wipe your ass with your good hand strapped down?”

Beaker snorts. “No, but I got food poisoning with epic shits once while my entire leg was in a cast, and let me tell you how much fun that was to deal with.”

“No thanks,” Taylor says, holding up his hands. “I really don’t want to know.”

Across the arena, he sees movement in the box occupied by the Caps’ media guys and scratched players. He gets a glimpse of Elias settling back in his seat, turning to talk to the guys around him.

It occurs to Taylor that Elias might have seen him leave the box earlier, that maybe he went for a walk when he did in hopes of running into Taylor. Maybe it was a coincidence, but if not… well, it’s pretty damn flattering. And if the kid thinks quick handies in the bathroom are hot, Taylor’s going to rock his world next time. 

“The fuck are you smiling about?” Beaker asks. “This game is a shitshow.”

“I was thinking about something else, to be honest.” Taylor forces himself to focus on the ice below. Just in time for the Caps to score again.

Everyone in the press box groans.

Somewhere down there, Eric’s watching the game with his new boyfriend, and Zimms is going to have to meet the guy after all of this. He’s having a much shittier night than Taylor is, and he’s not even injured. 

“Kind of makes you glad you’re not down there, huh?” Beaker says with a sigh next to him.

Taylor starts to protest out of principle, but… okay. Privately, he can admit that he’s a little bit glad he’s sitting up here right now. He’s had a much better night than the guys on the ice, anyway.

***


	17. Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15118081), Bitty has to choose between Jack and Kevin, angst, rated T, 3500 words

So Jack is… bi. 

Bitty’s not entirely surprised. He’s had his suspicions ever since Kent Parson showed up at Epikegster last year. But to be brutally honest, he can’t help but be a little disappointed that Jack is only saying this now. 

He knows people have to do these things when they’re ready, of course he does. But he and Jack are such good friends — maybe even were best friends until recently — and Jack never felt like he could say anything? If Jack was going to tell anybody, Bitty feels like he would’ve been the person to tell, so the fact that he didn’t… Well, the only reason he can imagine Jack didn’t want him to know is that he didn’t want Bitty to think he had a chance. 

Not that Bitty feels picked on, here — he’s pretty sure no one would have a chance, that Jack is actually ace, and that’s the real thing that he’s been afraid to tell anyone.

Well, he didn’t _say_ that, not really, but he heavily implied it, and… it makes sense. Bitty’s known Jack for two and a half years now, and he’s never been aware of Jack really being into anyone. Even the brief time he dated Camilla was awkward (for everyone who witnessed it, _lord_ ), and Jack clearly only thought of her as a friend, and backed off when she pushed for more.

And that is exactly what’s been happening with him, isn’t it? 

Bitty curls up into a little ball and pulls his pillow over his head.

The reality is that Jack probably isn’t interested in being in a relationship with anyone, or in having sex with anyone, ever. Bitty needs to come to terms with that, somehow. Obviously, Jack is who he is, and Bitty is going to love him no matter what, but… Jack is never going to want what Bitty wants. 

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding onto the idea until right now. He feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

He feels selfish even thinking about it like that, because he knows that was hard for Jack to say, that Jack entrusted him with something precious. Bitty should be a supportive and accepting friend, because that is what friends do for each other, and lord knows Jack needs friends right now. Bitty hates himself for being so disappointed, for feeling so gutted about it, but he can’t help it right now.

He really has to let it go, doesn’t he? And he needs to do it before he sees Jack in a few days. 

***

The game is hard to watch, both because it doesn’t go well and because the seats are literally that bad. Bitty knows Kevin is making a gesture here: he knows how Bitty feels — has felt — about Jack, and though he doesn’t know all the details, he seems to sense that Bitty is working on letting it go. It’s sweet, the sort of thing a good boyfriend would do.

Bitty’s trying really hard to appreciate that.

He thinks he’s holding it all together just fine until the moment he sees Jack after the game, and then it’s like all of the feelings he’s been trying to bury for the last few days come rushing back to the surface. He runs towards Jack and wraps his arms around him before he has a chance to think about what he’s doing. Jack opens his arms, though, and hugs him back just as tightly, and it feels good, so good. The thought rises again, so quickly that he can’t squash it down, that Jack wants him as more than a friend, that all those little looks and touches, all the moments they’ve shared over Skype that felt so intimate were really building up to something. 

That’s going to hurt for a while, he thinks.

He makes himself step back, and turns to where Kevin is standing. Kevin has an odd look on his face, like he’s not sure what to do or say at all. Bitty suddenly remembers that he’s never actually met Jack before. 

“This is Kevin,” he says, gesturing. “Kevin, Jack.”

Kevin moves to stand next to Bitty, and extends a hand to Jack. “Hey, man, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He’s smiling, but Bitty can hear the tension in his voice.

Bitty swallows down a flash of annoyance at him. 

“Yeah, same,” Jack says, and then they’re both quiet, just standing there not-smiling at each other. It’s incredibly awkward. 

Jack finally stammers out some sort of media-approved statement about the game, and Kevin just frowns in response. Clearly Bitty’s going to have to take over this conversation before it goes totally off the rails.

They talk about the game, about plays that worked and penalties that didn’t get called. Jack complains about how much he misses having Taylor on his wing, and Bitty makes a mental note to text Taylor that later. They laugh over something that Bitty realizes is an old SMH in-joke, and he turns to explain it to Kevin. 

Kevin is… it’s probably an understatement to say that he does not look happy. His arms are crossed and his expression is tight, like he’s been standing there sulking for the last… oh lord, how long have they been talking?

Bitty looks at Jack, and Jack’s definitely noticed too. He looks a little amused, actually, which is probably only going to piss Kevin off more. They need to get going if they’re going to catch their train, anyway, so Bitty hugs Jack one more time, intending to make it quick. Jack clings to him, though, and brushes a kiss against his forehead. 

Bitty closes his eyes and just breathes for a moment before making himself turn away.

He’s in a daze as they walk back to the train station. He knows Jack was glad to see him. He’d needed to see Jack in person too, to give him that hug he’d promised. The way Jack had clung to him, though — Bitty doesn’t really know what to make of that. Jack has said he doesn’t want anything like that, but then he hugs Bitty so tightly anyway, like he’s holding himself back from… 

Bitty takes a deep breath, releases it slowly. Lord, even thinking about it is overwhelming right now. He’s starting to think he’s going to have to do what Kevin suggested and actually back off from talking to Jack for a while, again. He doesn’t want to, but he’s got to find a way to stop torturing himself with things that aren’t going to happen.

They’re on the train before he realizes that Kevin is genuinely upset. He’s barely said a word since they left — and okay, Bitty hasn’t either, but he’s been dealing with a lot of shit these last few days, and his emotions are a little wild right now. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with Kevin being pissed that Bitty talked to Jack for like five whole minutes without making sure Kevin was following every word. Kevin isn’t a huge hockey fan, sure, but he’s a grown-ass adult, and he could’ve just sucked it up and made an effort to join in.

They get off the train and start walking toward campus, and Bitty finally can’t stand the silence anymore. “What?” he asks, trying not to let his annoyance bleed through too much.

“You're still hung up on him,” Kevin says, his voice so tight it’s like he’s spitting out the words. “And he's still playing you.”

Oh. _Shit._. Bitty read this entire situation wrong, didn’t he? “Kevin—”

“No, don't.” Kevin stops walking, finally looks at him. He still looks angry, but he’s clearly hurt too. “Don't lie to me. You've been talking to him again, haven't you?”

Well, yes. That’s true, but it’s not what Kevin thinks it is. This seems like a bad time to say that, though, so Bitty just sighs and nods. 

“So where does that leave me?” Kevin’s face is so sad, and he looks like he might actually cry. “I like you, Eric. I really do, and I want us to be together. I want you to tell Jack Zimmermann to go fuck himself because you have a boyfriend. I want…” He stops himself and looks down at the ground. 

Oh, _god_ , Bitty’s huge fucking asshole, isn’t he? He’s been so wrapped up in his own feelings that he completely ignored Kevin’s. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” He steps forward tentatively, then wraps his arms around Kevin. Kevin tenses a little, but doesn’t push him away, and Bitty sighs against his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I didn't… it was a crazy few days, with Taylor getting injured. He needed to talk about some stuff going on with the team, and some really personal shit he can’t talk to anyone else about, and I listened, okay? I know it's fucked up, but he's still my friend, and I just… oh, god.”

He’s not explaining this very well, but there’s not much more he can say, because a lot of this isn’t Kevin’s business at all. 

“Shit.” Kevin wipes his eyes and backs away, puts some space between them. “Look, Eric… I need to know what you want from me. If you just want to be friends, say so. But I… I can't sleep with you anymore if you don't actually want to be with me. I just can't do that to myself.”

Oh. Oh, no.

This isn’t where Bitty thought this was going, not at all. His own emotions are so completely fucked up right now, and at the rate he’s going, he’s going to fuck Kevin up too. Kevin is sweet and thoughtful, and he doesn’t deserve this. And wow, Kevin is standing in front of him and saying that he really likes Bitty a lot, despite his initial reluctance to actually date Bitty at all, and his insistence that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Bitty had believed that, had honestly appreciated it, because Bitty’s not in a position to be in a serious relationship right now either. He’d just wanted to have fun with someone, to be distracted from the drama and confusion of his friendship with Jack Zimmermann.

But he also knows that you can’t help how you feel, obviously, and that it sucks to care about someone and not have your feelings returned. It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ Kevin, though, because he does. He likes Kevin a lot, likes talking with him and hanging out, likes having sex with him. He just doesn’t want…

He’s not sure what he wants. Kevin is standing there, waiting for him to say something, looking like he expects Bitty to break up with him. That’s definitely not what Bitty wants, but mostly, he doesn’t want Kevin to look that that anymore. 

“Kevin—” he starts, but Kevin shakes his head.

“Just, please — don't answer right now. Think about it. I know you're going on a roadie tomorrow, so like, text me when you get back. Okay?”

Bitty bites back the urge to say something more, and nods. Kevin leaves without so much as a hug, and Bitty realizes too late that he never even thanked him for tonight.

***

Hockey ought to be a distraction from the turmoil in his own head, but it’s not enough. It’s fine when he’s on the ice — he can’t think about much other than playing — but the long bus rides between games are a problem. He can’t even distract himself with studying for finals, which he’s falling behind on at a frankly terrifying rate.

The thing is, he doesn’t want anything to change. And yeah, he knows that isn’t fair, but honestly? He was pretty okay with the weird limbo he’s been in the last few weeks. He had a casual boyfriend, someone he could have fun with, but not worry about anyone’s feelings getting hurt, and he could still fantasize about Jack from afar. 

But all of that has changed, hasn’t it? It would be creepy to fantasize about Jack now, for one thing, and Kevin’s given him an ultimatum: commit to this or we’re done. Bitty’s not happy about it, but he can’t really blame him for it. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would have said the same to Jack months ago. 

But god, he _hates_ it, so much. 

Choosing Kevin would mean really, truly admitting to himself, once and for all, that he and Jack are never going to be more than friends. It feels like closing a door, locking something away forever, and it hurts just to imagine. But it’s not like not-choosing Kevin would mean he’d have a better chance with Jack. Jack is out of the equation either way, and that… _fuck_. 

Kevin is a great guy. Bitty likes him a lot. Bitty isn’t anywhere near falling in love with him, but maybe he could get there, one day. 

That’s probably not fair to Kevin either. 

This whole thing sucks. He wishes he had someone to talk to about it, but the only people he can think of are exactly the ones he can’t talk to about it. 

Well… maybe there is someone.

*****

“Hey,” Taylor says, smiling at him through the screen.

“Hey,” Bitty says, leaning back in his desk chair. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Hurts less than it did yesterday.” Taylor runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. “They’re saying I might be able to skate this week, though, so that’s something.”

“I’m sure it’s slowing down your love life.”

Taylor grins. “Not as much as you’d think.”

Bitty really wants to ask for deets. He almost does for a wild second, but stops himself. Right now he needs to talk about this mess with someone who might understand. “So, I texted you that I kinda have a situation, and I need some advice.”

“Yeah.” Taylor looks a little sheepish. “So like, I’m seriously flattered, but I have to say, I’m probably the worst person to ask about relationship stuff.”

“I haven’t done much better. And I think you know Jack as well as anyone else.”

Taylor’s eyes widen. “Wait, did something happen with you and—”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Bitty presses his hands over his face for a moment. “Okay, first, you gotta promise me this is just between us, okay?”

“Okay, sure.”

“And I know he’s told you the same thing he’s told me: that he’s bi, but not interested in being in a relationship at all. Right?”

Taylor nods, and Bitty takes a deep breath. Everything comes spilling out after that: the fact that he’s basically been in love with Jack for years, his confusion about the way Jack behaves around him, the fact that he’s into Kevin physically but not so much romantically, and Kevin is pushing him to level it up or end it.

“I know it’s a dick move to string Kevin along, but god, the last time I saw Jack, he hugged me so hard, you know? It was like… like he was jealous as fuck and wanted me to… I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

Taylor presses his lips together and looks thoughtful for a moment. “I think that if he wanted anything like that, he’d want it with you. He really, really likes you, more than he likes anybody else.”

“But he doesn’t like me like… he doesn’t want to date me.”

“He says he doesn’t want to date anyone, and I think he means it, but…” Taylor hesitates. “I know this is easier said than done, but I think you should talk to him. Just straight up ask him what he wants.”

Bitty drops his forehead to the surface of his desk and groans. “Ugh, I knew you were gonna say that.”

“I know, and seriously, bro, I should take my own fuckin’ advice one of these days. But I think he would be into dating you, just… maybe not the way you’d want it. You know?”

“You mean without the sex part?” Bitty isn’t sure he could do that. It makes him feel like a shallow asshole just thinking it, but he’s got to start being honest with himself, at least.

“Yeah. And I think he’s genuinely afraid of losing you as a friend, so he doesn’t want to ask you for something that he knows wouldn’t work for you. Or, maybe? I don’t know. It’s not like he opens up about stuff like this with me either.”

“I’d rather be his friend than lose him completely,” Bitty says, and it feels so true. “Even if his idea of us being friends is for him to flirt with me constantly, then pull away when I flirt back.”

“That’s really shitty, I know, but… I don’t think he’s trying to be mean, if that helps? I think he just doesn’t know what else to do, how else to show you he cares about you.”

Bitty sighs heavily. “So what should I do? What would you do if you were me?”

Taylor snorts. “You already know what I’d do. The question is, is that what you want?”

Bitty tries to imagine it: having some sort of semi-platonic relationship with Jack, while having a lot of casual sex on the side. Or maybe making it clear to Kevin that he’s not interested in any kind of long-term commitment with him, that it’s primarily a friends-with-benefits arrangement, and that’s all it’s going to be, while he does… whatever with Jack. He’s pretty sure that if he told Kevin that was the deal, Kevin would end it on the spot. 

And sex is important to Bitty, something he’s not sure he could face giving up in a long-term relationship. Even if Jack would okay with him going outside the relationship for that, he’s a little frightened of the idea of casual hookups, too — he needs to feel like he can trust a guy before getting naked with him. 

And all of that assumes Jack even wants to be with him, which is still an open question, as far as Bitty is concerned.

Bitty shrugs, miserably. “I can’t have what I really want, so.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Eric. I know it sucks.”

“It really, really does.”

***

He honestly doesn’t know what he’s going to do until he’s sitting across from Kevin in the cafe the next day. Kevin looks so sad, like he already knows it’s hopeless, and it’s just…

Bitty _should_ want him. He’s smart, thoughtful, and so sweet. He’s super hot and great in bed, and a genuinely good person. If Bitty had an ounce of sense, he’d leap into Kevin’s arms and never look back. Kevin is exactly the kind of boyfriend Bitty needs, the kind of person he should fall in love with.

And Kevin is sitting here right now, looking so sad at the thought of losing Bitty. He _wants_ Bitty, wants to be with him, wants everything with him. His only flaw is that he’s not Jack, and that’s…

Bitty has to move on. He doesn’t know if he can, but he has to try. He has to give Kevin a real chance, no matter what Jack might want. No matter what Bitty really wants. 

He looks up at Kevin. “I’m saying that I want to try, with you.”

Kevin looks gobsmacked. “You want to try. And if Jack calls you tomorrow and tells you he wants to be with you?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? Because if that happened… shit, Bitty knows what he’d do. He’d jump into Jack’s arms and never look back. But that’s not going to happen.

“That’s not going to happen,” he says, and he feels his heart breaking a little as he says it.

“But if it did?”

 _Fuck_. This is a terrible idea, because his friendship with Jack is always going to be an issue, no matter what happens between him and Kevin. He’s going to have to figure out how to compartmentalize his feelings for Jack, to lock them safely away, and he’s not going to be able to be completely honest with Kevin about that. He’d like to be, but looking at Kevin’s face now, he knows they’re not going to be able to talk about Jack at all. Kevin is always going to be jealous of Jack, even though he and Jack are only ever going to be friends. 

It’s time to accept that, isn’t it?

“It’s not going to happen, and I need to let go of the idea that it might, no matter what Jack does or says. I have to move on, for real.”

Kevin looks unhappy, but he also looks a little bit relieved. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if he believes Bitty or not.

Bitty isn’t sure he believes himself.

“Okay,” he says at last. He smiles, but he doesn’t look terribly enthusiastic. He looks worried, mostly.

“Okay,” Bitty repeats. He reaches for Kevin’s hand. Kevin squeezes his fingers, and doesn’t let go.

It feels like a mistake, but Bitty’s committed to it now.

***


	18. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15269596), Whits’ POV of New Year’s Eve, Rated T, 5000 words

Taylor has done a lot of stupid things in his life. He’s done most of them while drunk too, which isn’t an excuse — it’s just reality. 

This one, though, is probably going to make the top ten.

It had all been going pretty well until now, too. He’s been genuinely happy these last few months: he’s had a lot of fun, and he’s had a _lot_ of sex. He’s been alone a lot too, which he’s good with, most of the time. But every now and then, he looks around and realizes he’s surrounded by happy couples, which is kind of… depressing. He had a boyfriend for a long time, after all, and he misses that feeling of knowing he’s got somebody, that there’s a person who cares about him.

His last year of college, the team had a big New Year’s Eve party at a house some of the guys lived in. Everyone drank a lot and shot off illegal fireworks and played music too loud, and it was great. The best part, though, was when Dani had pulled him into a bathroom with a minute to go before midnight. He’d said it was important to have someone to kiss at midnight, and they’d giggled at each other, standing there between the toilet and the sink, listening for the countdown. It had been a sweet kiss, one that stands out in Taylor’s mind, even though they’d shared thousands of kisses by then. And Dani had pulled back and smiled, had whispered, “God, I love you,” and Taylor had been so damn happy.

Taylor spent last New Year’s Eve at a party hosted by the Janssens, and was the only person there who didn’t get a kiss at midnight. He’d slipped away to text Dani right after, even though it was a couple of hours from midnight in Colorado still. Dani hadn’t replied back until the next morning. Looking back now, Taylor’s pretty sure Dani hadn’t spent that night alone.

That’s probably why he’d got it in his head that he _had_ to kiss someone this year. He wasn’t going to let the memory of that one kiss live so large in his mind anymore. He was going to kiss someone at midnight, and it was going to wipe that last kiss away for good.

Well, he supposes he did accomplish that much. 

Anyway, it sort of went like this:

He’s sitting on the balcony with Shitty and a few other folks, after many beers and a few shared joints, feeling totally great about life and everything. Seriously, he’s got it so damn good right now: finally healed up and back on the ice, surrounded by friends who get him, no shortage of hotties who want to hook up with him. He’s got a nice buzz going tonight too, the kind that’s just on the edge of being too much, but not there yet. If he stops now, he won’t even be that hung over. Fucking _win_. 

Then somebody says it’s almost midnight and everyone gets up and goes back inside. He pushes to his feet, a little more unsteady than he’d expected (oops), and heads in to see that people are already pairing up. And shit, it hits him full in the face then — even after all the people he’s hooked up with and all the crazy shit he’s done, he’s still alone _right now_. Nobody here is gonna kiss him at midnight, and that’s like, a fucking tragedy. How did he not end up with a date tonight, of all nights? 

_No one wants a guy who’s so pathetic and clingy. Christ, Tay, get a life._

He winces, pushes that voice out of his head. Fuck that noise, he’s gonna kiss somebody at midnight.

Zimms is standing off to the side of the living room, watching the television countdown, and… oh, _hey_. Zimms kissed him before, right? He’d even seemed to enjoy it until it went a little too far. And Zimms is a great guy too, a good friend. He’d probably be down for a friendly kiss at midnight, just to help Taylor out. 

It really had made sense in his head at the time.

He walks over to Zimms and flashes the smile that usually works even on him. 

“What?” Zimms asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“You’re kissing me at midnight.”

“Yeah, right.” Zimms chuckles a little, like he thinks Taylor is joking. 

“I’m serious! You _have_ to kiss someone at midnight on New Year’s, for luck.” Taylor tries pouting. That usually works on Zimms too.

Zimms just looks vaguely annoyed, though. “Maybe _you_ do.” He turns away, and wow — cold. 

Taylor frowns. “Somebody has to fuckin’ kiss me!” 

The people in earshot laugh in response, and Taylor’s face heats. He should just let it go, walk away and pout into a drink, but now they all think it’s a joke, that he’s trying to be funny. He’s got to go all-in now, else he’ll look as pathetic as he feels. He scans the room, looking to see who else is obviously alone. 

He catches Treat’s eye, more by accident than anything, and Treat backs away, hands held in the air. “No fuckin’ way, bro. No offense, but I do not swing that way at all.” 

Everyone laughs again. Now it’s a matter of fucking principle. He’s going to carry this damn joke all the way to that last possible second. 

“ _Zimms_ ,” he says, turning up the charm as much as he can now. “You’re my only hope.”

“No.” Zimms laughs, though, likes he gets what Taylor’s doing here. Maybe he’s game after all.

Taylor moves closer, smiling. “Come on, it’s not like you haven’t kissed me before.”

Zimms stares back at him, his expression blank, like he has no idea what Taylor is talking about. Wait — did he dream that? No, that happened, definitely. He shivers a little just thinking about it. 

(Okay, he’s way over his crush on Zimms — he knows the guy now, knows that it would never happen, that it would be fuckin’ weird if it did — but like, he’s got _eyes_. Zimms is one of the best-looking guys he’s ever seen in his life, and like, the day he stops fantasizing about a hot guy is the day you should check his damn pulse.)

“Wait, what?” Janssen asks from behind Taylor’s shoulder. Taylor jumps a little; he hadn’t known he was there.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Rolly says, standing behind Taylor’s other shoulder. He looks fucking delighted. “Did you two hook up? Cuz you told me—”

“No!” Zimms says, and glares at Taylor in a way that says _fucking say something_. 

Shit — Taylor hadn’t meant for anyone else to hear that, and he definitely doesn’t want anyone to think they hooked up. He should totes clarify. 

“Nah, we just made out once when we were drunk, that’s it.” 

There. No biggie, right?

“Holy shit,” Rolly says, leaning against Taylor’s shoulder and speaking softly into his ear like one of those little cartoon devils. “When did this happen?”

“A while back.” Taylor gets lost in the memory for a moment. “Not gonna lie, it was pretty hot.”

“Shut up, Whits.” Zimms looks tense, glances over at Eric, and… whoa, Eric looks mad. Is no one getting that this whole thing is a joke?

“So whatta ya say, Zimms?” Taylor tries really hard to beam _just roll with it bro_ directly into Zimms’ brain. 

“God, no. Once was enough.” Zimms makes a sound like a choked laugh, so maybe the attempt at telepathy worked.

Fuck, he’s still pretty high, isn’t he?

Taylor pouts. “Fine, be that way.” 

“One minute!” Treat shouts from over by the television.

Zimms and Eric are looking in opposite directions now, turned away from each other like they’re both pissed off. Taylor feels a sudden stab of guilt — did he do that? Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe Eric didn’t know about the time he’d kissed Zimms when he was super-wasted. He could’ve sworn he’d mentioned that at some point. Maybe not?

Okay, he’s totally gonna make this up to Eric, right now. If Eric is mad that Zimms once kissed Taylor, then maybe he’d be up for a little revenge, like, in the form of _Eric_ kissing Taylor, right? Two birds, one stone. _Boom_.

God, he has the best ideas when he’s high.

“So Eric—”

“Oh god,” Eric says. He sounds annoyed. He just hasn’t heard the plan yet.

Taylor moves closer, slides an arm around him. “C’mon. Kiss me at midnight.”

“I’m what, your fifth choice?” 

He’s literally the second choice. Has he not been listening? “No, not even. Second, maybe.” He leans in close enough to whisper, “It’s for good luck, come on.” Eric twists away a little, and Taylor leans in again. “Zimms’ll be so damn jealous. You know he hates not being the center of your attention.”

Eric makes a startled sound that turns into a laugh. “Okay, fine, just… ugh, you’re such a pest.”

“I really am.” Taylor winks at Zimms. “You’re off the hook, bro.”

Zimms looks shocked, and more than a little jealous. Heh.

Taylor is fucking _brilliant_.

He’s just intending for it to be a chaste little peck on the lips, honestly, but then Eric turns to him and drapes his arms over Taylor’s shoulders. He smiles up at Taylor with an expression like he’s thinking about dragging Taylor into a closet and sucking him off, which… Okay, damn, that is so not what Taylor needs to be thinking about right now. Eric’s hot, sure, but he’s also Taylor’s friend, and like, that’s venturing into very awkward territory. 

Eric wets his lower lip with his tongue, clearly teasing. Taylor makes an exaggeratedly smarmy face at Eric in return.

Eric laughs and shakes his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“Shut up; it’s for luck. If you laugh, you’ll ruin it.”

“Then don’t make me laugh.”

“Okay.” No laughing, then, just some serious midnight kissing. Got it.

Taylor still has a drink in his hand, so he sets it down and slides his arms around Eric, pulls him closer. Eric raises his eyebrows, his expression challenging. Taylor smiles back, all in now — he’s gonna give Eric a kiss to remember, a kiss that he’ll feel in his toes, a kiss that’ll make Zimms’ head explode. 

And hey, Zimms could’ve stepped up to kiss either one of them, but it’s too late now. He can just stand there and watch, and think about what could have been.

The people around them start counting down with the TV. Taylor leans in on _one_ , his lips meeting Eric’s right as everyone shouts “Happy New Year!”

Eric’s lips fit perfectly against his own, and they stay like that for a few seconds, soft, easy. Then Eric’s mouth opens under his, and… damn. Okay, Taylor maybe underestimated how much he was going to enjoy this. It’s weird, not just because Eric’s his friend, but because he’s not really Taylor’s type. Taylor usually hooks up with guys that are bigger than him, much more traditionally masculine. Eric’s body feels small against his own, all compact, tightly-packed muscle. It’s different than what he’s used to, but hot too, in a way that’s really familiar. Like…

Ha, right. Parson. Zimms has a type, doesn’t he?

People start whistling and cheering, and Taylor pulls away to see what the fuss is. The fuss turns out to be _them_ , though — apparently the sight of two dudes kissing is something of a novelty in this crowd. Taylor grins and Eric grins back, then tilts his head, expression like, _wanna give them a show?_

Taylor’s not an exhibitionist, but he’s not _not_ one, either. He leans in to kiss Eric again, and Eric laughs against his lips. He goes up on his toes, arms around Taylor’s shoulders. The kiss is a little less exploratory now, each of them moving in sync with the other. It’s pretty objectively good, but not like _gonna-pop-a-boner_ good. That’s a little strange — Taylor has pretty much only ever kissed people as a prelude to fucking them — but it’s also a relief.

“Get a room!” someone yells, and there’s laughter, and Taylor doubles down, sliding his hands down to Eric’s ass and squeezing.

Eric laughs so hard he breaks the kiss, head thrown back. Taylor chases him, kisses him again, small teasing pecks of his lips against Eric’s until Eric twists out of his arms.

“Oh my lord, that was so bizarre.” Eric swipes the back of one hand over his mouth. 

“Good bizarre or just damn awkward?” 

Eric’s not listening, though. He’s looking around the room, expression suddenly concerned. He turns back to Taylor, eyes wide. “Where’s Jack?”

Zimms is nowhere to be seen: not outside, not hiding in the kitchen, and not in the bathroom either. His bedroom door is closed, like it has been all night, but Taylor would bet good money Zimms is on the other side of it now, sulking.

“Eh, whatever,” Taylor says, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “Let him be pissed for a while. He’ll have his head on straight when he comes back out.”

Eric is staring at the closed door with a stricken expression, though, his whole body stiff.

Taylor frowns and leans in close. “If you’re really worried, just go knock on the door. Talk to him.”

Eric shakes his head and takes one step backward, then another. “I… I need to… oh god.” He turns and makes a beeline for the front door.

“Eric,” Taylor hisses, then chases after him. Eric is halfway to the elevator before Taylor manages to grab his hand. “What are you doing?”

“I need to get out of here for a little while, I’m sorry.” His voice is tight, and when Taylor finally gets a look at his face, there are tears in his eyes.

Taylor put him up to this, and Zimms freaked, and now… _shit_.

Taylor tugs on Eric’s hand and Eric sags where he stands, lets Taylor come close and wrap his arms around him. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No, s’not. I just…” Eric takes a deep breath, then sniffles. “I just need some air, okay? I’ll go for a walk or something.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you don’t have to. Go have fun, I’ll be fine.”

“It’s after midnight on New Year’s Eve,” Taylor says. “No one should be out walking by themselves this time of night.”

Eric slumps against him and sniffles again. “Okay, fine.”

They don’t talk for a long time. They walk towards the waterfront, both of them shivering against the cold. It’s still unseasonably warm, but not grabbing coats was definitely dumb.

“I just don’t know what he wants,” Eric says at last. “And I’m so fucking tired of it.”

“I’m sorry if I made it worse.”

Eric laughs, but the sound is strained. He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you tell me you kissed him?”

Taylor takes a deep breath, releases it. He’s feeling almost sober now, enough that the stupidity of what just happened is starting to catch up with him. “It was just a dumb thing we did when we were drunk. It was only once.”

“When?”

Taylor bites his lip. “Uh… Thanksgiving?”

“Oh my _god_.” Eric stops walking, puts his hands on his hips, and closes his eyes. “At the Haus?” he asks, voice shaky.

Taylor groans. “It was all me, okay? I was drunk and horny, and I threw myself at him. He kissed me back until I made it weird by rubbing my dick against him, then he pushed me away. That was it.”

“So he flirted with me that whole day, let me sit in his lap for over an hour, practically tucked me in, then went upstairs and… kissed _you_?”

It seems like a rhetorical question, so Taylor doesn’t answer.

Eric turns to face him, expression distraught. “What’s wrong with me that I’m never the one he wants? If he wanted to kiss somebody that night, why wasn’t it me?” His eyes are welling up again, and Taylor feels like utter shit.

“I don’t know, maybe because he knew it would mean something with you, and it didn’t with me.”

“More like he knew it would mean something _to_ me, and he didn’t want me to get the wrong idea.” 

“I…” Taylor sighs. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Tears spill over then, and Eric furiously wipes them away. “So he can kiss you and it’s no big deal, but I do it and he locks himself in his bedroom?”

“Look, he probably just freaked, I don’t know. He likes you and… shit, I knew it would make him jealous, but I didn’t know he’d be that upset.” He wraps his arms around himself. “Fuck, I’m freezing. Can we go back now?”

They start walking back toward the building, quiet again. The streets around them are busy, groups of people walking by, arms around each other, laughing. They’re all happy, celebrating. That was Taylor, like half an hour ago. Fuck.

“Maybe he’ll be over it by the time we get back. You should talk to him, tell him the kiss was just a joke, and ask him why he got so mad.”

“I know that’s what I should do, but...” Eric sighs. 

“I know, bud.” 

They run into Rolly and Janssen and their wives in the lobby, apparently heading out. 

“Y’all calling it a night?” Eric asks. 

“Yep, I’m done,” Carrie says, one hand on her belly.

Janssen raises his eyebrows at Taylor, nods his head toward Eric, and whispers. “He’s cute.”

Taylor glances at Eric before whispering, “No, it’s not — seriously, we’re not like—”

“Right, sure,” Janssen says with a wink. He mimes zipping his lips.

Great, that’s just what Taylor needs right now.

They say goodbye and head up the elevator, then hesitate outside the door of Zimms’ apartment.

“Tell him you need to talk to him and don’t take no for an answer,” Taylor says. “Drag him into the bedroom if you have to, and tell him how you feel.”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna puke,” Eric says, closing his eyes. 

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna be fine.”

They open the door. It’s oddly quiet inside, though. Most everyone is gone now, and just a handful of the Samwell folks are left. Zimms is nowhere to be seen. 

“Heeey,” Shitty says, and pats the couch next to him. “Come give me a New Year’s hug, Bits.”

Eric settles against Shitty’s shoulder and lets Shitty pull him in. His expression is stiff, worried, and his face is pale. He looks like he might actually be sick.

Taylor thinks about going to Zimms’ bedroom and knocking on the door, maybe even storming in and yelling at him to pull his head out of his ass. He’s been stringing Eric along forever, and he needs to shit or get off the pot. It’s cruel to keep making Eric think he’s got a chance, when he doesn’t. Or does? Hell, Taylor has no clue anymore.

Taylor sighs. He’s still got enough alcohol in his system that he knows he’d just fuck it up even more, say things he regrets. Maybe he’s stuck his nose in it enough already and should back off, let Zimms and Eric figure their shit out on their own.

He says his goodnights, squeezes Eric’s shoulder, then heads back to his own apartment. He gets undressed, climbs in bed, and stares up at the ceiling.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, and he reaches over to pick it up. Maybe it’s a text from Zimms, explaining what the hell happened tonight. Or maybe it’s from Eric, needing to talk to Taylor more. 

It’s not from either of them.

_**Dani:** Happy New Year. Was thinking about you tonight. Miss you._

As if this night couldn’t get any more fucked up. Taylor stares at the screen for a full minute, emotions roiling in his stomach. What the hell? Why now? 

Dani was probably alone tonight, and… maybe that New Year’s Eve kiss two years ago meant something to him too.

 _Shit._ He’s in no state to deal with this right now.

He puts the phone face-down on the nightstand and pulls the covers over his head. 

***

He heads back upstairs the next day, feeling less hungover than he has any right to. Zimms is still nowhere in sight, but Eric, Shitty, and Lardo are in the living room watching the pregame for the Winter Classic. 

“Hey,” he says, and they all look up. 

Eric gives him a weak smile. “Hey. Want some coffee?” He gestures toward the kitchen.

He doesn’t, but it seems like Eric is really offering him an excuse to chat in private, so he nods and follows him to the kitchen.

“He’s so pissed, oh my god.” Eric puts a pod in the Keurig and slides a cup under the spout. “He hasn’t even looked at me, and has been a total asshole to everyone this morning.”

Taylor gapes at him. “Seriously? He’s still mad?”

“Chyeah.” Eric leans back against the counter and sighs. “He was such a jerk, lord. And like… What right does he have to be pissed at me for kissing you? What the fuck business is it of his who I kiss?”

“It’s not his business.” Taylor shakes his head. “Shit, this is so fucked up.”

They’re both silent while the coffee finishes brewing. Taylor watches Eric mix in the exact amount of sugar he likes before handing the cup over to him. Taylor takes a sip: it’s perfect, of course. Eric is fucking magical, in so many ways. Zimms is gonna regret not making a move when he had a chance.

“I was supposed to stay here tonight, but… yeah, I don’t think so.” Eric scrubs his face with one hand. “It’s pretty clear he doesn’t want me here, so I’m going home with Shitty and Lardo this morning.”

Taylor groans. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Eric says, shaking his head. “You know what, I think I’m actually glad this happened. I needed a good kick in the pants to get over him. It’s almost easier like this.”

“Yeah,” Taylor replies, and barely keeps the sadness out of his voice. It all feels so wrong, and it’s his fault. “So, uh, not to make it about me and all, but you’re not gonna believe who texted me last night.”

He shows Eric the text, and Eric expresses the appropriate amounts of shock and anger on Taylor’s behalf.

“Wait, y’all are playing the Avs soon, right?”

Taylor winces. “Yeah, in a week, actually.” He’d been thinking about it sort of absently, knowing that would be the first time he’d see Dani again. Apparently Dani has been thinking about it too, and Taylor doesn’t know what to make of that.

“Oh, honey,” Eric says, like Taylor’s love life is the one that’s fucked up here. 

Taylor sighs. It probably is.

They sit on the couch again and watch the pre-game, all of them quiet. Zimms emerges from hiding at some point, scowl etched onto his face. Taylor tries to make eye contact with him, but he just stands there and glares at the TV. 

“Should I order pizza?” 

Shitty and Lardo groan like the very thought of it makes them want to puke. 

“I guess that’s a yes.” Zimms picks up his phone and taps at it. 

Zimms disappears again until the pizza arrives. He sits on the far end of the couch by Lardo to watch the game, as far from Eric as he can get. He keeps his gaze on the TV screen, not looking at anyone else, not responding to the comments anyone makes about the game. 

Taylor has no idea why Zimms is doing this, why he’s being such an asshole about one kiss. He almost doesn’t recognize the guy he calls his best friend. 

The game is kind of a wash, just to top things off. The Bruins might as well lie down on the ice and wait out the clock.

The third period isn’t even over before Shitty announces it’s time to go. Lardo seems surprised, but Shitty jerks his head very minutely toward Zimms and gives her a meaningful look.

“Yeah, okay,” she says. “Bits, you riding with us?”

Eric looks so miserable Taylor wants to hug him. “Yeah.” 

Zimms’ jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away from the television. He doesn’t acknowledge the others getting up, going to gather their stuff. He just sits there, glowering.

Taylor stares at him for a long moment. “Habs look good.”

“Yeah.” 

Well, at least he’s not pretending Taylor isn’t there.

“Condon’s like, a wall out there.”

Zimms frowns.

“Good to see Gally back at it, though, after the—” Taylor raises his hand and wiggles his fingers.

Zimms shrugs.

“The rink looks freaky small in that stadium, doesn’t it? Wonder if we’ll ever get to do that?”

Zimms shrugs again, this time with visible annoyance.

Fine, whatever. If he wants to stew, Taylor’s going to let him. They sit there in silence, watching the game until the others come out again.

For a moment, Taylor thinks Zimms is just going to ignore the fact that they’re all leaving, but he doesn’t. He gets up, walks them all awkwardly to the door. Lardo gets a hug, but then he steps back and stares at the floor. 

“Bye, Jack,” Eric says, his voice small.

“Drive safely,” is all Zimms says in response. 

Eric’s face crumples like he’s been slapped.

Taylor would like to slap Zimms upside the head right now, _christ_. He slides an arm around Eric’s shoulders instead, though. “I’ll walk y’all out.”

Eric leans heavily on him in the elevator, no looking at the others. Shitty and Lardo are having a terse, whispered conversation a few feet away, but Taylor ignores them. He squeezes Eric’s shoulder.

“You want me to talk to him?”

Eric shrugs. “Won’t matter.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Eric turns, presses his forehead against Taylor’s shoulder. “Me too.”

All three of them hug Taylor hard when they get to the car. None of them say anything more, but they’re all giving him sympathetic looks. He supposes they’ve known Zimms a lot longer than he has, and don’t envy him having to deal with the guy for the next few days… or however long these strops usually last.

Eric hugs him tightest of all, then kisses his cheek. “Hang in there, okay?”

“I should be saying that to you,” Taylor replies. 

He heads back up after they drive away, but doesn’t get out when the elevator doors open on his floor. He punches the button for eight, and lets it keep going up. He knows he should leave well enough alone, but the look on Eric’s face when Zimms didn’t even say goodbye was just…

He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, but he’ll figure it out when he gets there. The elevator doors open and he steps out, stands there for a moment before he finally knocks.

There’s no answer, so he knocks again. He waits a bit, then pulls out his phone.

_Let me in I’m outside your door._

_Bro we need to talk._

_Cmon man don’t ignore me open the door_

He stands there a few more minutes before he gives up. 

He sits on his couch and thinks through it all. So okay: he was drunk and did a dumb thing, but it’s not like Zimms hasn’t seen him do that shit before. Hell, that’s basically how he and Zimms ended up kissing that one time, and that went a hell of a lot further than this one did. 

Does Zimms think Taylor took advantage of Eric or something? Eric’s not a kid, not by any stretch, and it’s not like he’s never even hooked up. Actually, Eric is currently dating someone, isn’t he? Oops. Eric didn’t seem too concerned about that, though, didn’t even mention him. Maybe they’re on a break or something.

The point is, Zimms’ reaction to a stupid joke of a kiss was way over the top, and he has to know it. Maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he’s acting like this, because he’s ashamed of himself and doesn’t know how to apologize for it. People do that sometimes, right?

Taylor presses his hands over his face and groans. If that’s what’s happening, then the best thing for Taylor to do is wait him out. He’ll act like everything is totally normal, and Zimms will get over it. 

Maybe.

He taps out a text to Eric: _How long does it usually take for him to get over shit wen he’s mad?_

It’s a while before Eric replies: _I honestly don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this before_

Taylor sighs. Great.

Taylor’s done a lot of stupid things in his life, most of them while drunk. This one is probably top five, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

He opens up the text from Dani and reads it again. He knows he should ignore it, but he’s feeling kind of lonely right now. They’re going to see each other in a week, so maybe it would be good to be on speaking terms, at least. He needs a distraction from the rest of this bullshit.

He taps out a text, then deletes it, rewrites it two more times before finally hitting send.

_Hey. I’ve been thinking about you too._

***


	19. Dani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15418906), Dani’s POV of the week leading up to the Falcs/Avs game and what happened next, rated E, 5900 words

“Hey, Anders, looks like your boy had a good night in Providence.” 

Dani keeps his expression neutral and looks up. “Huh?”

Matty holds up his phone. “Your buddy from college, Whitton? Three points on his first night back in the line-up.” He whistles and shakes his head. “Probably helps he’s on Zimmermann’s wing, eh?”

“More like he’s on Zimmermann’s dick,” Hemy mutters from Dani’s other side. A couple of guys in earshot snicker.

“Yeah, whatever.” Dani leans down to tie his skate. He’s heard the rumors that have been swirling around the last month or so, that Tay’s not only semi-out, but also pretty easy for it. He’d brushed it off the first time he heard it, because honestly — that didn’t sound like Tay at all. But he kept hearing it, from different people. And it’s not like he’s really talked to Tay much in the last eight months.

People have been talking about Zimmermann for ages, and he hadn’t believed it until he hooked up with Parson. After that, it seemed plausible that Zimmermann might at least swing both ways. The idea of Tay and Zimmermann, though… Well, they’ve got that whole bromance thing going on social media. The Falcs PR are sure as hell trying to make it look like they’re fucking, so maybe they are. 

Dani feels a stab of something unfamiliar at that, something that burns deep in his gut. It’s not until later that day, when he’s back in his apartment after practice, that he recognizes it as jealousy.

Dani was the one who ended it. He did it for Tay’s own good, because he knew the longer it went on, the more Tay would get hurt. He loved Tay, loved him so damn much, but being away from him was harder than he’d ever anticipated. Phone calls and Skype sex just didn’t cut it, and the longer the months went on, the less they had to talk about. 

And yeah, Dani fucked around — he’s not proud of it, but none of those guys meant anything. They were all quick hookups, most of them anonymous, the rest of them players with just as much to lose. It wasn’t usually even good sex — mostly quick handies in dark corners while terrified of getting caught, and generally only marginally better than his right hand. He should have talked to Tay about it when it first started, he knows. They could’ve worked out some kind of hundred-mile rule or something.

But every time he wanted to bring it up, Tay was so sad and lonely, and needed to be reassured that Dani still loved him and still wanted to be with him. It was easier not to talk about it. It wasn’t like Tay was ever going to find out, all the way across the continent. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Until it did, because Dani finally couldn’t keep going like that. There had been a couple of guys he’d really hit it off with, guys he would’ve been interested in dating had he actually been single. That got him thinking about what he really wanted, how much long distance relationships utterly suck. It kept getting harder to talk to Tay, too: every phone call was miserable by the spring, and Dani finally dreaded talking to him, would find excuses to cut calls short or text him instead. When Tay started talking about them going off somewhere together once the season was done, Dani realized he couldn’t stomach the idea of spending a week with him. No amount of sex was worth listening to him whine the whole time about how miserable he was. So he ended it.

It was ugly. Tay wanted to see him one more time, begged him to give it another chance, and he just wasn’t getting it. Dani was done by then, and pissed off that Tay wouldn’t just let him go, and so he kept talking, said that he’d fucked around, that he wasn’t sure he was really in love with Tay anymore, that he knew they’d both be happier apart. 

“Why?” Tay asked after a while, voice rough like he’d been crying. “Why did you cheat?”

“Because I wanted to,” was all Dani could think of to say. 

Tay hung up on him, and that was it. 

***

In a few weeks, Tay will be in Denver for the first time since they broke up. Dani can’t stop thinking about it.

He spends an entire afternoon stalking Tay online, against his own better judgment. There’s a lot there, too — he’s had an amazing season and he’s on his way to being an elite player. Dani’s not sure he would’ve believed that a year ago. He probably would’ve laughed at the idea, honestly. But some of his highlights are just… _damn_. Dani doesn’t usually think watching sick plays is hot, but after watching video of Tay’s hat trick back in November, he’s kind of hard in his boxers. 

He seems happy too, happier than Dani’s ever seen him. He’s not really hiding his sexuality, either. It’s probably not obvious if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but wow. He’s getting away with some interesting shit, especially concerning Zimmermann.

It hits Dani about a week later that Tay has not only gotten over him, but has left him in the dust in almost every way. 

Well, shit.

***

He’s drunk and alone when he texts Tay on New Year’s Eve. It’s just. He can’t stop thinking about him, about how he had this great guy and then threw him away. Tay is sweet, and yeah, he was a little clingy at times, but the sex was pretty good. Not the best head Dani’s ever gotten, but pretty decent. Tay loved getting fucked, too — Dani knows he was Tay’s first in that way, but a lot of guys have probably put their dicks in him since. Zimmermann probably has. Dani pours himself another drink and downs it at that thought.

He’d thought things would be easier without Tay, that he could fuck around and not feel guilty, do whatever he wanted without having to call his whiny boyfriend all the time. It had been fun at first, but now it just feels… empty. His hookups come and go, but Tay was always there when he needed him, always up for phone sex, or to commiserate when he got sent down to San Antonio. Or just to talk, about anything.

He doesn’t have anyone now. Okay, he has buddies on the team, but there’s no one who really knows him. No one knows he’s gay, for one thing — and they’re not going to. His position on this roster is tenuous enough as it is; the last thing he needs is to be a “problem” in the room and get sent back down for it. 

It’s really damn lonely, is what he’s saying. He didn’t know how good he had it when he had Tay. He didn’t appreciate him, was a terrible boyfriend. And then he ended it, so like, it’s his own fault he’s sitting here now, drunk and fucking alone on New Year’s Eve.

He thinks back to that night two years ago, when they were in the middle of a great season at U of M, both of them ready to hit free agency in the spring. The world was wide open, and they were gonna do it together. They went opposite directions when they signed, but they still had each other. They were going to make it work.

He picks up his phone and scrolls through the last text thread with Tay. It’s the stuff from right before the breakup: Tay making plans for the summer, all excited to spend time with him again. Dani’d already planned to break it off then, and did a few days after Tay’s last text. 

He wants to call him, but he’s probably at a party tonight, having a blast. Hell, maybe Zimmermann’s dick is in his mouth right now. 

He taps out a text, deletes it, then taps it out again. He hits send before he can second-guess himself. He stares at the phone for a while, but there’s no response. 

Tay’s got better things to do now, apparently.

***

Tay does reply to his text though. Dani replies to that one, and just like that, they’re talking again.

They’re not talking about anything of substance; it’s more like catching up: how their seasons are going, updates about the guys they used to play with, and so on. Dani asks about Zimmermann as indirectly as he can, and Tay is predictably neutral when talking about him. He doesn’t learn much he hadn’t already gleaned from the internet.

It’s like a bruise he can’t stop poking — he keeps texting, keeps asking questions, trying to get Tay to tell him something real, something that will make this burning in his belly go away. He’s angry and bitter and desperate, all at once, and he _hates_ it. He’s never the one on the wrong foot like this. He’s always the one in control of relationships, always knows exactly where he stands with people. 

He has no idea where he stands with Tay, and Tay won’t even give him a hint. It’s frustrating as fuck.

 _You wanna get a drink after the game?_ he texts two days before they’re going to see each other again for the first time in almost a year.

Tay doesn’t answer until after the Falcs have arrived in Denver: _Yeah, sure._

Dani splashes water on his face in the bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror, thinking _Don’t fuck this up_.

***

The game is a shitshow, basically.

Tay’s on the first line and Dani’s a bottom pair defender, so they’re not even on the ice at the same time for most of it. Dani’s lucky if he gets 8 minutes anyway, so he spends the first two frames sitting on the bench and watching Tay skate better than he ever did at U of M. He makes jaw-dropping passes, checks like a beast, and gets pucks to the net in ways that make the guys around Dani hiss in amazement. 

He’s fucking _good_ , totally deserves to be on Zimmermann’s wing, and Dani… missed it. He missed all of that because he wasn’t paying attention, because he was too stupid to know what a good thing he had with Taylor Whitton. 

They’re down by one at the end of the second, and Coach Roy pulls Dani and Picks aside in the dressing room.

“I’m putting you two on Zimmermann. Keep him away from the damn puck.” He starts to turn away, then pauses. “And if you take more than one penalty, I’m benching you both.” 

“Sure, Coach.” Dani smirks at Picks, who grins back and bumps his raised fist. 

Dani’s never going to be an elite defenseman, but he’s good at what he does. He sees the ice well, he’s fast, he’s big, and he can annoy the fuck out of anyone. He didn’t set out to be an agitator, but it was something he learned how to do, a gap he could fill on the team. It’s kept him up for most of the season, too, so he’s honed it, worked at it, learned how to get under guys’ skin on the ice.

He’s pretty sure he knows exactly how to get under Zimmermann’s skin.

It doesn’t usually feel this personal, but right now all he wants to do is wipe that superior smirk off of Zimmermann’s face. Every time he takes the puck away, or distracts him with a remark, Zimmermann gets more frustrated. Dani’s going to make sure he loses this game tonight, and then he’s gonna try to fuck his boyfriend right out from under him, just to show that he can. He’s never going to be as rich or famous or good-looking or lauded as Jack Zimmermann, but for twenty minutes, he can make his life pretty damn miserable.

But of course, it all blows up in his face when Zimmermann loses his cool for real — and Tay gets involved. 

It’s a moment before he processes why they’re all looking at him like that, with shock and disgust. And then it sinks in: they _know_. They know he and Tay were together, and that Dani fucked around, and…

 _They know_ , and Picks and Iginla are inching closer, curious, and Landy is skating closer now, and even the refs are staring, and—

Dani is going to puke. He’s going to puke right here, on TV, in front of everyone. He skates for the bench and heads straight down the tunnel, ignoring the trainer who calls after him. He doesn’t make it to the bathroom, instead finds a trash can to empty his stomach into. There’s a hand on his back right after — one of the trainers, calling for someone to get a washcloth.

Dani’s head aches and his stomach twists. Someone puts a wet cloth in front of his face, and he takes it, wipes himself off. 

“You sick, Anders?” Jeff asks.

He shakes his head. “No, just… I think I overdid the gatorade. I’m fine now.”

Jeff’s eyes narrow for a moment, then he takes the washcloth back. “Okay.”

Dani goes straight to the box to serve two minutes for unsportsmanlike conduct. He keeps his head down the whole time, doesn’t look across the ice at the bench, afraid of what he’ll see.

He’s spent the last decade firmly in the closet, and to think that people know — that Tay told his teammates — he feels sick all over again. He pushes it down, though, doesn’t let himself panic. He’s got a job to do. 

The PK unit does their job and the Falcs don’t convert, to his relief. When his time is up, he gets called straight over to the bench.

Roy gives him a hard look, and Dani thinks for a moment that he knows. “Gonna puke again?” 

Dani shakes his head. “No.”

Roy pats his shoulder. “Keep up the good work, son.”

Dani focuses on breathing for a moment. 

He gets sent out again two minutes later. The looks he gets from the Falcs on the ice are enough to make his stomach roll, but he keeps his mouth shut and focuses on separating Zimmerman’s line from the puck. He doesn’t make eye contact with any of them, which makes it a lot harder, but he has to keep it together somehow. 

He keeps expecting them to say something, to call him names, to tell his guys what they know. They don’t, though, and he doesn’t understand it. He’d use that against a guy in a heartbeat. He has used it against guys, even guys he’s hooked up with. It’s not personal: it’s _hockey_.

The Falcs don’t score again, but neither do the Avs. Dani spends the last three minutes of the game on the bench, forced to just watch while six guys can’t make shit happen. 

They’re all quiet in the room after. A few guys chirp him for almost puking on the ice — that news traveled pretty damn fast — but they don’t seem to know what happened otherwise. Iginla is giving him some interesting looks from across the room, but that’s hardly unusual. 

He cools down, showers, and gets out of the arena as fast as he can. He’s halfway home before he remembers he’d invited Tay to a drink tonight. He hesitates for a moment, not sure if he wants to go through with it or not. Tay’s probably pissed at him, and Dani’s in a shitty mood for about ten different reasons.

Still, though, he’s been thinking about seeing him again for weeks. Fantasizing about it, to be blunt, with one hand down his pants. He doesn’t know if Tay’s gonna be up for anything more than a conversation, but if the rumors are true, his thing with Zimmermann isn’t exclusive. 

Dani would regret not at least trying to get in his pants. Who knows when he’ll have another chance?

He pulls into an empty parking lot, spends a minute trying to text, then gives up and hits call. It rings four times, and he’s thinks it’s going to voicemail, but then Tay answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey. You still wanna get that drink?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Dani.”

Dani sighs, rubs one hand over his eyes. “I just… I really want to talk to you.”

“We’re talking now.”

“No, like… Tay, please? I don’t want to leave it like that.”

Tay hesitates a moment, then sighs. “Where do you want me to meet you?”

“What hotel are you at? I’ll come get you.” 

Twenty minutes later, Tay is sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the silence between them awkward as fuck. 

“I didn’t tell them,” Tay says at last. “They didn’t even know who you were until tonight. They all figured it out right then… when I said your name. Sorry.”

Dani clenches his jaw. “Doesn’t mean they’ll keep it to themselves.”

“They will. I asked them to.”

Dani half-laughs at that, shakes his head. “And you really trust them that much?”

“Yes.” 

They’re at a stoplight, so Dani turns to look at him. His expression is earnest and open, and he reminds Dani of the guy he fell in love with so much that it hurts.

“Not much I can do about it anyway.” He makes himself look away. The light turns green. “You look good.”

“Thanks.”

“On the ice, obviously. I mean, your play this year is just” —he whistles low, shakes his head— “fucking incredible. But you look good here too, right now.”

Tay doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Why’d you go after Zimms like that?”

“It’s my job. You know that.”

“No,” Tay says, and his voice has an edge to it now. “You went after him with some personal shit, and I want to know why.”

Dani presses his lips together. “Are you fucking him?”

“I… what? No!”

Dani gives him a skeptical look. “Dude’s hot. I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” 

“I’m not, but even if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Okay.” He’s relieved, more relieved than he’d expected to be.

Tay’s eyes narrow. “Wait, is that why you went after him? Because you thought… you were _jealous_?”

“Coach told me to go after him.” 

“Did he tell you to say all of that?”

“Christ, of course not.”

“So you just did it because you wanted to?”

Dani doesn’t know how to answer that without pissing him off even more. He shrugs.

“You’re gay, so why would you say homophobic shit to guys on the ice?”

“Because it works.”

“I don’t fucking—” Tay shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like I don’t know how much of an asshole you can be.”

“You think Zimmermann’s special?” Dani retorts. “Look, not all of us can be big stars like you. I have a particular job to do on this team, and if I don’t do it, they put me on a plane to San Antonio.”

Tay clenches his jaw and looks out the window. Shit, this isn’t going at all like Dani’d hoped. He’s got to get this conversation back under control.

“Tay, look at me.” 

Tay does, but his expression is still annoyed. 

“I didn’t ask you out to fight with you. I miss you, okay? I miss you so much.”

Tay doesn’t say anything, just stares back at him.

“I know I fucked up. Believe me, I have regretted what I did to you every day. You deserved better than that, and I’m sorry.” He reaches for Tay’s hand, but Tay shifts out of reach. “I just wanted to say that, okay? I just… I’m just grateful I get to see you again.”

The next light turns red, and he stops the car, turns to look at Tay again. His eyes are wide and dark in the dim light, his lips parted. 

“God, look at you. You’re even more gorgeous than I remember.” He reaches for Tay’s hand again, and this time Tay doesn’t pull away. “Shit, you probably have a boyfriend, and here I am, making an ass of myself.”

“I don’t,” Tay says, voice tight. “I’m… I’m not dating anybody. I haven’t, not since we broke up.” 

There’s something in his expression now that’s soft and vulnerable, even a little sad. And just like that, Dani wants him so fucking bad.

“Good.” The light turns green and he drives forward. There’s a bar ahead, not the one he’d planned to go to, but the parking lot curls around the back of the building, and it doesn’t look busy. He pulls in and parks.

“Are we going here?” Tay asks, giving the building a skeptical glance.

“No. Well, we can if you want to, but I just needed to not be driving for a minute.” He reaches out, slides his fingers around the back of Tay’s neck, his thumb caressing his jaw. “And I really want to kiss you right now.”

Tay blinks at him, and exhales slowly, like he’s thinking. He bites his lower lip, and finally says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dani repeats, and smiles. He pulls Tay in, watches his eyes close.

Tay was always a good kisser. He’d forgotten that somehow. It’s been a long time since they really kissed, though, longer than he wants to think about right now. The kiss starts off sweet and slow, but it quickly turns dirty, both of them panting little breaths through their noses and shifting in their seats, trying to get closer. Tay’s hand lands on Dani’s thigh, and he squeezes, fingers sliding up the inseam of his pants. 

They shouldn’t. Dani should start the car again and drive them to the apartment he sublets so they could continue in private. But he’s a little afraid Tay will change his mind if he has a chance to think about it, and right now Dani wants Tay’s mouth on him so badly he can’t stand it.

He takes Tay’s hand from his thigh and moves it to his groin, presses it against his rapidly chubbing dick. Tay stares back at him, eyes almost wild. Dani leans in, catches his lips again. 

Tay exhales through his nose, almost a sigh, and unfastens Dani’s pants. Dani hums encouragingly into his mouth and Tay gets a hand on him, strokes slowly. It’s so familiar, enough that it takes his breath away, and he wants more. He pulls out of the kiss and nudges Tay down with a hand on his shoulder. Tay goes easily, leans over and takes Dani into his mouth like he always used to, like he hasn’t done in so long. Dani thinks he knows what to expect, remembers how Tay used to suck him, sloppy and enthusiastic — but it’s not like that at all.

Dani hisses through his teeth because _damn_ : when the fuck did Tay get so good at this? He’s got a hand wrapped around the base of the shaft and his tongue is doing wicked things, and there’s just enough spit and suction, and _fuck_ — Dani doesn’t want to think about how many guys he must’ve sucked off to get this good, doesn’t want to think about anything but how Tay is _his_ right now, tonight.

He slides his fingers into Tay’s hair and whispers encouragement, telling him how good he feels, how hard he’s gonna make Dani come. He has enough presence of mind to keep watch in the darkness around them, but the parking lot stays quiet. He doesn’t last much longer anyway, grunting out a warning even as his hips are shifting up, pushing himself further into Tay’s mouth. Tay doesn’t pull off like Dani expects him to, just takes him in deeper, sucks him through it until Dani’s whimpering for him to stop.

He sits up then, expression uncharacteristically smug, and wipes a hand over the back of his mouth. “Yeah?”

It takes Dani a moment to catch his breath. “I want to take you home and fuck you so good. You remember how we used to do it?”

Tay’s smile widens into a smirk, and he leans in to kiss Dani again. His mouth tastes like spunk — he can’t have forgotten how much Dani hates that. But not kissing him back would probably piss him off enough that he won’t let Dani fuck him, so Dani puts up with it for a few minutes.

“Let’s go,” he says at last, pushing Tay back into the passenger seat. He fastens his pants and starts the car, then glances over at Tay one more time. Tay is watching him with an almost-thoughtful expression. “Hey,” Dani says, and tangles their fingers together. “I’m really happy you came tonight.”

“Me too,” Tay replies, and squeezes his hand.

Tay disappears into the bathroom for fifteen minutes when they get to Dani’s apartment, then emerges naked and flushed, dick half-hard, and _christ_ — Dani had forgotten how gorgeous he is. He’s in better shape now than Dani’s ever seen him, his body chiseled in a way that speaks to his training, to how hard he’s working.

He seems to know what he looks like too, which is also new. Dani had spent a lot of time praising him back in college, telling him how hot he was, but it was like Tay had never really believed it. But watching him now, the way he moves, the way he’s fucking posing by the bed — he knows. 

Dani feels a sudden flash of irritation at that: Tay’s acting like he’s giving Dani a gift here, like a pity fuck or something. Like Dani couldn’t get ten guys like him any time he wanted. He swallows that feeling down, pushes it away, because Tay is here _now_ , and Dani’s going to show him that he’s learned a few new tricks too.

He takes his time with it, fingering him open slowly, bringing him to the edge with his mouth and gentle pressure right where he knows Tay likes it, then pulls him back again. He gets him face-down on the bed and fucks him slowly, working to get the angle just right. He’s already come once, so he’s in that zone where he can go a long time, and he uses it, bringing Tay close a couple of times before finally pounding into him the way he always loved it. His fingers are digging into Tay’s hips hard enough that he’s pretty sure he’ll leave marks, and he likes that idea, wants Tay’s teammates to see bruises in the locker room and give him shit about it. He’d like to mark Tay up in other ways, wipe that smug smile off his face and make him whine and cry, beg for it. Not tonight, though — if he’s lucky, this won’t be the last time they do this.

“Touch yourself,” he says. “I want you to come on my dick like this.” He’s sweating and his glutes are burning, and he’s feeling close to coming himself.

Tay does, and he comes within a minute, making soft, broken sounds into the mattress beneath him. Dani can feel Tay’s ass constricting around him, and it’s hot, so fucking good. He keeps going even after Tay is done, feeling Tay tense under him a little. He’s so close, though, almost there, and he knows Tay can take it a little longer. He presses in hard when he comes, then collapses onto Tay’s back, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” Tay says, voice a little muffled. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Dani says, and kisses his shoulder. “So damn good, baby.”

He pulls out carefully, oversensitive, and gets up to toss the condom and wash his hands. Tay waits until he’s heading back to bed, then disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. He starts gathering up his clothes when he comes out again. 

Dani sits straight up in bed. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” Taylor pulls on his shirt and starts fastening buttons. “Curfew’s in an hour.”

Dani gets up and crosses to stand in front of him. He reaches up and takes Tay’s hands in his. “No, come back to bed.”

Tay looks up at him. “I… don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, babe. Stay a little longer. Talk to me.” He tugs Tay’s hands and steps back, pulling him toward the bed. “Please?”

Tay hesitates a moment, but he follows and sits next to Dani. “I don’t know how to talk to you when we’re not…” He gestures between them, and Dani guesses he means _fucking_. “Look, this was just a hookup, all right?”

 _Just a hookup_. 

That… it almost hurts, and… Dani hadn’t expected that at all. He doesn’t want it to be just a hookup. He fucked Tay really good just now, like epic, gold star, relationship-fixing fucking. Tay was supposed to beg Dani to take him back tonight, but instead Tay is sitting there looking at him like he’s trying to let him down gently.

And that just… no. No, that’s not how this is going to go. The thought that he’ll never mean anything to Tay again is unbearable. He needs to mean something to him, needs Tay to want him again, as desperately as he did last year. Dani knew who he was when Tay loved him, and he really, really wants to feel like that again. 

Dani takes a deep breath, his mind scrambling. “Look… I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you.” 

Tay looks down at the floor in front of him. “Yeah. You did.”

“I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t, and god… I’m so sorry.”

“Dani—”

“No, just, please — I know I don’t deserve another chance to be in your life, but I really want to be.”

Tay makes a choked sound. “What the… what are you even saying?”

“God, I don’t know.” Dani takes one of Tay’s hands in his. “I just miss you so much, and getting to see you again tonight, to touch you, I…” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Tay’s ear. “I didn’t know I was still in love with you.” 

Tay stares back at him, shocked. “You’re… but you broke up with me. You said you weren’t sure you’d ever really loved me. How can you just…?”

“I know I said that, fuck.” He pulls Tay’s hand to his mouth and kisses it. “I wanted you to be mad at me. God, I cheated on you, and you were still ready to forgive me. I knew I didn’t deserve you, so I… I lied about that. I wanted you to hate me, so it would be easier for you to get over me.”

Tay huffs out a sound almost like a laugh. “That is the stupidest thing you have ever said, I swear to god.”

“It’s true, though.” He tries for a smile, hoping Tay will return it. “You were always the smart one.”

Tay looks away. “So why did you do it, then? Why did you cheat?”

“I was so fucking lonely, and I missed you so much. I couldn’t stand it and—”

“So much you fucked a bunch of other guys while I was just as miserably lonely two thousand miles away?”

Dani winces. “I know, it’s not an excuse. I’m not trying to justify it. But you asked why, and that is honestly how I felt at the time.”

Tay is quiet for a few seconds. “How many?”

Dani swallows. He honestly has no idea. Weekends blurred one into another, road trips and home games, and he went a little wild when they were in Florida that one week. “I don’t know… five, six?”

“Just hookups, huh? You hit the clubs or what?”

“God, no. They were mostly guys I met on Grindr. They’d send a dick pic and… it kind of went from there.” He hesitates: he’s got to tell him a little more so it doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass. “There were a couple of players too.” 

Tay snorts at that. “Anybody I’d know?”

“I doubt it. They were guys like me, just trying not to get scratched every night.” 

Tay looks skeptical. He’s a lot smarter than Dani’s given him credit for.

“I did a lot of shit I regret, is the point. I’m so sorry, and I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to go fuck myself, but I really do miss you, so much. Seriously. If I could do it all again…” He sighs.

“Dani…” Tay shifts to face him. “I miss you too, okay? But this summer was awful, and…. I feel like I’ve just gotten my life back on track, you know?”

Dani’s stomach sinks. Tay’s mostly over him, and he’s going to walk out the door, and Dani’s going to feel even worse than he did on New Year’s. If he can just get him to stay a little longer, maybe he can convince him to give it another try.

“Just think about it, okay? It doesn’t have to be like it was before. It can be whatever we want it to be. We could take it slow, just be friends, see what happens when we’re in the same place.”

Tay doesn’t answer, but the expression on his face is softer now, more open. Like he’s considering it. Dani reaches for him, pulls him into a kiss. Tay lets him, melts against him, and Dani feels a wave of relief. 

They end up making out for a while, neither of them really up for another round, but not wanting to stop touching each other either. 

“I love you,” Dani whispers against Tay’s lips, then kisses him before he can respond. “I love you and I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Tay says at last.

Dani smiles and slides his fingers into Tay’s hair. “I know you did, babe. But you’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Tay replies, looking at him with wide eyes. “I am.”

***

Tay’s gone when he wakes up. The clock says it’s 6:00 am, and the bed is cold beside him, like Tay left a while ago. There’s no trace of him now, as if it never happened. Dani exhales and feels almost… relieved.

He said a lot of shit last night, things he felt in the moment. In the dim light of morning, he’s not so sure about a lot of them. It was always that way with Tay, though: when he was there, he filled Dani’s vision, was the only thing he wanted. And when he was gone, it was easy to forget about him.

Dani pulls the blanket over his head and sighs. He doesn’t really know what he wants with Tay. He doesn’t know what Tay wants either, though he seemed interested last night.

He supposes it can’t hurt to try. All-star weekend is coming up, and they could do something together. At the very least, they could have a lot of fun.

He picks up his phone and taps out a text: _Have a good flight. Love you._

Tay doesn’t reply.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up should be Bitty's POV of Jack coming to the Haus in chapter 19. I'm ready to be done with the angst and have some fun, heh.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting!


	20. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set during [chapter 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/15571990), Bitty’s POV of the night Jack comes to the Haus, rated E, 8200 words

_Hey_.

Bitty stares down at his phone. Jack texted him, finally, and… Bitty has no idea how to respond.

The week and a half since New Year’s Day has felt like months. He’d given Jack a few days to cool off, then had tried texting him casually, hoping things would go back to the way they’d been before. But Jack had barely replied, just texted single words that were more like grunts than anything else. When the Falcs played, Bitty could see through the TV screen how upset he still was. 

“He won’t even talk to me,” Taylor says one night when they’re Skyping. “I even went over, brought some beer, thought we could watch a game, right? He barely said five words to me.”

“Maybe he just needs more time.”

Taylor snorts. “Maybe he needs a good kick in the ass.”

“Are you volunteering?” Bitty smiles at him. 

“No.” Taylor sighs. “I think I might need a kick myself, actually.” 

Bitty raises his eyebrows at that, and Taylor tells him about the texts he’s been exchanging with Dani over the last week.

“He wants me to meet him for a drink after the game.”

“Are you going to?” 

“What would you do?”

Bitty snorts. “Honey, you know what I’d do. I’d run the other way screaming. I handle conflict like a cat in a bathtub.” Just look at his current relationship, for example.

Dinner with Kevin’s parents had been… well, there are many words Bitty could use to describe that evening. Excruciating is maybe too much, but uncomfortable isn’t quite enough. It was just so weird sitting there with Kevin’s parents smiling at them, neither of them knowing they’d had a huge fight not an hour before dinner. And it was over something completely stupid, too, and mostly fueled by Bitty’s recent Jack-related frustration — which he’s obviously not telling Kevin about.

Bitty knows he needs to suck it up and have an honest talk with Kevin. He’s going to, he swears. Soon. 

“It would be nice to be able to talk to him again, I guess,” Taylor says, and it’s a moment before Bitty remembers he’s talking about Dani. “I mean, we were together for years, and he was my best friend. And he’s the one who reached out, so I feel like all I have to do is show up. It’s up to him to prove he’s changed, you know?” His expression is soft, almost sad.

“Wait, do you still have feelings for him?”

“I’m always going to have feelings for him,” Taylor replies with a shrug. “I mean, he was a total dick last year, but… it was pretty good before that.”

“Uh huh,” Bitty replies, unable to keep his skepticism out of his tone. Taylor has had nothing good to say about Dani until right now, so forgive him if he doesn’t trust that guy’s motives. “Just be careful, okay?”

Bitty should take his own advice, obviously, and be careful about everything where Kevin and Jack are concerned. Kevin’s been tiptoeing around him the last week, sending him sweet text messages at all hours of the day. Bitty wishes he could put this thing with Kevin on hold for a while, wait until he’s in a healthier place before jumping back into it. He’s knows Kevin would be good for him, but he also knows he’s not really in a place to let Kevin in right now, and he hates that about himself. 

He doesn’t reply to Jack’s text at first, gives it a couple of hours. What does that _Hey_ even mean? Is Jack trying to apologize for being a dick and freezing Bitty out for one dumb drunken kiss? If he is, he’s going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.

Still… this is Jack, and Bitty knows this is hard for him. He should at least throw Jack a bone. 

He replies _Hey_ , then pockets his phone before he’s tempted to say anything more. It buzzes almost immediately. 

_Classes going ok?_

Bitty blinks at the phone. Lord have mercy, is Jack Zimmermann actually making small talk? 

_I haven’t decided what I’m taking yet. Less than last semester tho. OMG that was insane._

Three dots appear immediately, so Bitty stares at the screen of his phone and waits.

_When’s your next home game?_

Bitty laughs before he can stop himself. Jack is trying, he knows, but school and hockey? Is that really all he has to say to Bitty right now?

 _Friday, against Syracuse_ , Bitty replies. 

_We get back to Providence Friday afternoon._

Bitty waits, but nothing more seem to be coming. _Why, you thinking about coming?_ he types, because that’s the only thing that makes sense, but then he deletes it again. He’s not going to invite Jack to the game, then be disappointed when he inevitably says no.

He puts his phone down and walks away from it for a little while. 

It’s great that Jack is reaching out, but Bitty doesn’t have to do the work for him. If Jack wants them to be friends, he’s gonna have to make an effort. 

He finally replies _Great_. 

He doesn’t hear anything for a few hours. He glances at the Falcs’ schedule and realizes they’re probably flying to St. Louis today. He’s heading to lecture when he gets another text from Jack.

_We’re in St Louis tonight_

_ok_ , Bitty replies.

_Flight was bumpy_

Bitty smiles at that one — this boy is trying so hard right now. It’s almost sweet. _You afraid of flying?_

He puts his phone in DND for lecture, then finds a reply from Jack when he looks at it after: _No not really. It’s just weird, because it’s not in your control, you know?_

This is the least interesting conversation he and Jack have ever had, but at least they’re talking. Sort of.

He watches the game that night with the rest of the guys. The Falcs lose in OT, and Bitty’s thumb hovers over the texting app for a moment, ready to send a sad face to Jack. He doesn’t, though, because he’s put this on Jack, and he’s not going to go back now. Jack is the one who’s going to have to show Bitty he means it this time. 

He puts his phone back in his pocket again and watches the highlights, listening to the guys around him complaining about the officiating. 

Jack doesn’t text.

***

They’re tied with two minutes to go when Holster fires it from the point, a hard slapshot that makes it through the screen and into the net. Samwell manages to hang onto the lead until the buzzer. Bitty’s so relieved he barely celebrates, just leans over with his elbows on his knees and tries to catch his breath.

“We are gettin’ shitfaced tonight!” Nursey says in the locker room, and everyone cheers.

“We’ve got another game tomorrow,” Ransom warns, but no one’s listening. Bitty exchanges a sympathetic glance with him. 

The plan had been for the big party to be on Saturday night, but apparently a lot of the guys are ready to get started early. Not that Bitty expected it to be any different: a win is a win this season, something to be celebrated. As much as they all hate to admit it, the team is struggling without Jack. 

Bitty leans back in his stall and sighs: he really has to stop thinking about Jack all the time. He’s just torturing himself.

He showers and gets dressed, and smiles at all the guys. He’s tired, and he’d really like to go home and go to sleep, but he knows his kitchen will get trashed if he does. It’s gonna be a long night.

“Hey,” Lardo says, looping her arm through his as he’s headed toward the exit of Faber.

“Hey,” he says back, bumping her with his hip. He really needs to catch up with her — it’s been a crazy week. 

“Sweet win, right?” She’s smiling, almost smirking. Bitty is instantly suspicious.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Her smile goes so wide it’s actually scary.

He groans. “Oh, lord, just tell me what you’re up to and save me the trouble. I’m too tried for this shit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Yeah? I hope it’s that you soundproofed my room so I can sleep tonight.”

She snorts. “Nah, bro. But it is in your room. You should head up when we get back and check it out.”

“Oh my god, just tell me.”

“Nope. It’s something you’ve got to see for yourself.” She grins and steers him in the direction of the Haus.

She stops him on the front porch, and pulls out her phone. She taps at the screen for a moment, and looks up at him. “How tired are you, really?”

Bitty shrugs. “Too tired for an impromptu kegster. Why?”

“Nothing.” Her phone buzzes, and she smiles. She types something more, then tucks it in her pocket. “C’mon, Bits.”

They walk through the front door and hang their coats on the rack. Nursey and Dex are just starting to get things set up for the party, to Bitty’s chagrin. He is so not in the mood for this shit tonight. 

“Up,” Lardo says, giving him a push toward the stairs. 

He gives her an annoyed look, so she takes his hand and tugs him up the stairs behind her. 

“I promise you’ll like this, okay?”

“All right, fine,” he says, his voice edging into a whine now, “but if anyone touches a thing in my kitchen—”

“Just go, Bits! I’ll keep an eye on it, I promise.” She raises her eyebrows at him, totally giving him the Manager look, and he sighs. 

He opens the door of his room, and frowns. “I know y’all are up to something, because that light was not on when I—”

It’s _Jack_.

Jack is sitting on his bed, and whatever Bitty was going to say dies on his lips. His mind goes blank; everything goes quiet. 

His game day suit is rumpled, like he’s been wearing it all day — which he probably has. He was in St. Louis earlier, just flew back this afternoon. He must’ve come straight here, didn’t even change clothes first. He’s looking up at Bitty with an expression almost like desperation, a weird mix of hope and fear.

Bitty closes his eyes and opens them again.

Jack is _here_ , in his bedroom. Bitty spent a lot of nights fantasizing about something very much like this, about Jack showing up and telling Bitty he wanted him, out of the blue. And he’s here, now — but Bitty knows that can’t be why. 

He exhales slowly and closes his bedroom door behind him. 

“Hey,” Jack says, and Bitty pulls himself together. Whatever is going on, Jack came to him, has been waiting for him, and that means something. What, he has no fucking clue, but Jack is making an effort, so. 

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“I went to the game tonight.”

“Oh.” They’d kind of texted about this. Jack had asked, anyway, like he’d wanted Bitty to invite him. “Why didn’t you say you were coming?”

“I didn’t know I was going to. I got off the plane and I just… kept driving.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see you.”

There’s a tiny flicker of hope in Bitty’s chest, but he shoves it back down again. Jack is here offering an olive branch, and that’s it. He takes a few steps forward, into the center of the room, then stops. 

He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready to forgive Jack for all the shit he’s put Bitty through, It’s too much, and they’re going to talk about it, right here, right now, even if this means the end of their friendship. Bitty just fucking _can’t_ anymore.

“Jack, I don’t think—”

“No, wait. I need to say this, okay?” 

Oh god, Bitty is changing his mind, right now: he’s not ready to hear whatever it is Jack has to say. He’s tempted to flee, go downstairs and drink himself into oblivion in order to avoid the whole thing. 

“I’m an idiot,” Jack says. “And I’m so sorry.”

Well, that’s a fucking understatement. Bitty forces himself to breathe. “Go on.”

“You deserve to be happy and I keep fucking that up.”

Bitty’s stomach plummets. Jack gets it. He understands that he’s been stringing Bitty along, and he’s here to apologize for it. Bitty is both crushed and relieved, all at once, because that means it’s really over. Jack knows how Bitty feels — maybe Taylor finally cornered him and told him — and he’s here to tell Bitty it’s never going to happen, once and for all. 

_Oh god._ Bitty thought he was ready for this, but he really, really isn’t.

“I don’t mean to be an asshole, but I… I am an asshole. I’m not good at this, and I never will be. I know it’s not fair to ask you to give me another chance, but—”

“Jack, stop.” Bitty can’t do this right now. He knows it sucks that Jack is ready to have this conversation, but he is suddenly so not ready to hear it. He’s tired and hanging on to his sanity by a thread, and he just can’t. “I know this is hard for you, okay? I’m glad to be your friend, I really am. I just… I can’t…” 

He feels tears stinging his eyes, and he looks up at the ceiling, wills himself not to cry. He’s such an idiot, to have ever let himself think anything could happen between the two of them, and now he’s paying the price. He just needs Jack to go, and they can talk about it another time. Not now.

“Bitty.” Jack reaches out, takes his hand and pulls, and Bitty tries so damn hard to resist. He doesn’t want Jack to touch him, to feel sorry for him, to let him down easy. It’s humiliating and awful, and he just _can’t_.

Jack tugs again and Bitty caves, lets himself be pulled forward, almost between Jack’s thighs. Jack looks up at him, his expression so soft and open, and oh god, Jack is going to _hug_ him now, and he’s not sure he can handle it. He can’t be that close to Jack now. 

Jack leans in closer, tilts his head, and Bitty realizes with a start that Jack is going to kiss him.

What. The fuck.

“Jack…” he tries, voice almost breaking, and he can’t even complete the thought. If this is some twisted show of pity, if Jack is doing what he thinks will make Bitty feel better right now, just to let him down gently later — no, that’s even worse. It’s cruel.

Jack sits back, looks up at him with an expression somewhere between surprise and disappointment. He’d thought Bitty would want to be kissed, that maybe a kiss would ease the sting. But Jack doesn’t want what Bitty wants, and a kiss isn’t going to change that. 

He takes Jack’s face in his hands and looks at him, really looks. Jack looks so earnest, so hopeful, and Bitty feels his head start spinning again. He can’t guess what Jack’s thinking — his track record on that front is pretty abysmal. He realizes, grudgingly, that he’s going to have to ask; he can’t avoid it now, as much as he wants to. 

He touches his forehead to Jack’s. “Please… I can’t kiss you and then get pushed away again. I don’t think I could handle that, so if you don’t mean it…”

“No, I mean it, I swear, I— _Please_.” 

Jack’s arms go around him, and it’s so close to what Bitty wants he can barely breathe. Jack brushes his nose against Bitty’s, near enough that Bitty can feel the warmth of his breath against his lips. That little flicker of hope rises up again, and this time, Bitty doesn’t squash it down. 

He’s dreaming; that has to be it. Or he’s missing something here, because this is not what he thought Jack would ever want. He’s spent months convincing himself of that, and the fact that Jack is here, now, lips an inch from his is just— 

“I thought you didn’t do this. Every time I thought there was a chance, you’d say that you don’t date, that you’re not interested in relationships or—”

“I know, but it’s _you_.” Jack’s voice is trembling. “You’re… I don’t know, I want everything with you. I’ve tried to get over it, but I can’t, and not being able to do anything about it is killing me.”

Bitty’s mind goes blank for a moment, replaying those words. It’s more than Bitty ever expected to hear, more than he ever thought Jack would say. 

“God, Jack,” he manages to say, his voice barely audible to his own ears. 

“I’m not an easy person to be with,” Jack continues. “I think you know that.” He shifts and brushes a soft kiss again the corner of Bitty’s lips, so light that Bitty isn’t sure it actually happened. “But I want to try, if you’ll have me.”

Reality sinks in all at once: this is real and Jack is here and Jack wants him, apparently wants what Bitty wants after all, and his arms are around Bitty and his mouth is _right there_.

Bitty can’t even form a word to respond; he just whimpers and kisses Jack. 

It’s everything he ever imagined kissing Jack would be, but better. Jack’s hands and Jack’s lips, and Jack’s tongue and Jack’s hair under his fingers and the rasp of stubble on his chin and the scent of him everywhere — it’s overwhelming, sensory overload, and he forgets where he is and when and why. All that matters is that Jack is here and Jack is kissing him like he’s wanted to kiss Bitty forever and is finally getting to do it.

“Wow.” Bitty has to pull back and catch his breath at that thought. “Oh my god.”

Jack kisses him again, like he can’t bear not to be kissing him, like they’re making up for lost time. Bitty loses himself it it again for a while, leaning his weight against Jack’s chest and feeling Jack’s arms holding him up.

“So we, uh…” he tries again.

Jack doesn’t stop, though, just works his way down the line of Bitty’s throat with warm, wet kisses. Bitty would really, really like to see where he’s going with this, but they need to have at least a minimal talk first. He pulls away and brackets Jack’s face in his hands again. Jack stares up at him with an expression like amazement, and Bitty’s mind goes momentarily blank.

“Okay, so… Is this… are you…?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know the question.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is yes.” 

Oh, this boy. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

This is really happening, isn’t it? He keeps waiting for that other shoe to drop, but he’s starting to realize it isn’t going to. “You’re really here.”

“I am.”

“And you kissed me.”

“Can I do it again?” Jack’s smile is a little lopsided, almost naughty, and _lord_. 

Bitty laughs. “Honey, you can kiss me all you want.” 

Jack pulls him closer, smiling even wider. “C’mere then.”

Jack kisses him open-mouthed, and it gets hot and heavy fast. It’s like they can’t get close enough, pressing against each other so tightly Bitty can feel the definition of Jack’s muscles beneath his hands. 

He feels other things too, one thing in particular, and _lord_. His brain goes a little fuzzy at that, at the physical evidence of how much Jack wants him. He wonders if Jack would fuck him into the mattress right now if Bitty asked, and that just… Bitty’s so fucking hard right now that he hurts.

They’re maybe moving a little fast here. Jack just showed up and told Bitty he wants to… date him, maybe, or at least make out with him, but Bitty knows what he wants. Making out for half an hour isn’t going to do it.

He has a sudden moment of terror, a desperate fear that Jack will be here with him tonight, then change his mind tomorrow, say he didn’t mean it. If tonight is his one chance to get his hands on Jack’s dick, Bitty’s gonna take it.

“Jack,” he says, pulling out of the kiss, but Jack just moves back to kissing his neck, and _god_ , that’s so good it’s not fair. Bitty moans, and can feel Jack smiling against his skin.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice husky now. Bitty’s about to climb this man like a tree, with no shame whatsoever.

But still, he needs to make sure Jack knows what he’s getting into here. Or at least what impression he’s giving Bitty, because _damn_. He forces himself to step back a little. “Do you want to… I mean, you’re staying, right?”

“Yes, please. I’ve been thinking about this for months.”

“Months.” Bitty wants to scream a little bit: Jack has felt this way for _months_ , and he didn’t say anything? He takes hold of Jack’s tie and gives it a tug, maybe a little harder than he intended, because Jack’s eyes widen. “I wish you’d said something. I’ve thought about this for more than a year.”

“A year?” Jack has the audacity to look surprised. “God, I’m sorry. I’ve been so—”

“Hush,” Bitty says, and kisses him softly. He’s not gonna push it now and kill the mood, but they are definitely gonna talk about this later. “You’re here now. Just kiss me.”

Jack closes the distance between them, and just like that, it’s overwhelming all over again. His hands are under Bitty’s shirt, super-heated against his bare skin, his thighs are strong against Bitty’s hips, and his mouth is a revelation. Bitty’s not sure he’s ever been kissed quite like this, with _so much_ feeling. It’s like Jack’s pent-up emotion is spilling through, washing over him, like he can’t control it. He gets swept up in the feeling of it, lets Jack draw him.

They’re on the bed before Bitty quite knows what happened, thighs tangled together and— 

Okay, that is definitely Jack’s dick pressed against his hip, and _holy shit_ , it’s bigger than Bitty would have guessed. 

Bitty loses what little semblance of control he’d managed to hold onto, grinding his own erection against Jack’s. Jack makes a sound beneath him, one so wanton it nearly melts Bitty’s brain, and that, yes _please_ , he needs to hear more of that.

“God, Bitty,” Jack whispers, sounding almost there. Jack’s hands are on his ass, and their kissing is almost desperate, like they can’t get close enough. Or like they’re both actually really close, which— 

Bitty groans and pulls back: every time he’s thought about this — and lord help him, he has — he and Jack rutting against each other until they both come in their pants is not the way he pictured it.

“Okay, so… are we on the same page here? Cause I really want to do more than kiss you, but we don’t have to do anything that—”

“Yeah, same page,” Jack blurts, diving in to suck on Bitty’s neck. He presses his hips up against Bitty’s again, for emphasis.

“I’m just… just sayin’…” Bitty tilts his head a little and Jack latches on to a spot just beneath his ear. “Oh my god.” 

Fine, screw slow and romantic. They’re going go hard and fast, and it’s going to be so fucking good. 

There’s a sound in the hallway, laughter and footsteps going past, and Bitty pushes himself up. This is not the night he wants someone to walk in, looking for a place to hook up. “I gotta lock the door.” 

When he turns around again, he almost chokes on his own tongue. Jack is laid out on his bed, hair a mess, eyes wide, mouth red and wet, with a sizable tent in his tailored pants. He looks utterly wrecked, and… Bitty did that. He looks that way because of _Bitty_ , because he wants Bitty. He wants what Bitty wants, even though it took them a while to figure that out. But he’s here now, and it’s everything Bitty’s ever wanted.

Bitty is suddenly not in a rush anymore. Jack isn’t going anywhere, isn’t going to be scared off when Bitty finally gets a hand on his dick. Bitty’s going to take his time with this and make it _good_.

He stops a few feet from Jack and smiles, then tugs his shirt up and off. He watches Jack’s gaze slide down over his shoulders, his chest, down to his belly. Bitty knows what he looks like — even though it took him a while to really let himself believe it — and he knows what Jack sees. He flexes a little, cocks one hip to the side, posing.

Jack looks sort of dazed. It’s a moment before he manages to drag his gaze back up to Bitty’s face again.

“Your turn,” Bitty tells him, then bites his lip in anticipation. “You’ve tortured me for years, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Not being able to look at you in the locker room, lord.” 

Jack’s smile slides into something almost feral, an expression Bitty’s pretty sure he’s never seen. Jack sits up and starts working at the knot of his tie, his gaze locked with Bitty’s. An awkward moment later, he gives up, loosening the knot and pulling it over his head. 

Bitty stifles a laugh, because _lord_ , how is this boy even real?

Jack starts unbuttoning his shirt then, and he makes a fucking show of it: fingers moving frustratingly slowly, tugging the fabric open bit by bit. By the time it’s hanging loose on his shoulders, Bitty’s hands are clenched in fists at his sides. Jack tosses the shirt aside, then moves to unfasten his pants, _sweet baby jesus_.

Bitty is going to combust before this is over. He’s going to come the moment Jack touches him, and he’s not even going to mind. 

Jack tugs his pants down, takes his underwear with them. His cock is hard and huge and gorgeous, curving up toward his belly, and obviously wet at the tip. He’s uncircumcised, something Bitty already knew from sharing a locker room with him, but seeing it hard is a whole new experience. Jack leans back on his elbows and spreads his thighs, and Bitty is not going to deprive himself any further. 

He takes a step forward, mind racing with all the things he wants to do. He wants that cock in his hand, and also in his mouth, and he wants to feel Jack’s thighs under his fingers and he wants to get a good look at that glorious ass. He wants to suck Jack until he comes down Bitty’s throat and he wants to ride his dick and he wants Jack’s mouth on him and he wants to know what Jack sounds like when he’s close and if he gets sensitive after and if he _likes_ that and how quickly he can get it back up again.

“Bitty,” Jack whines, like he heard all of those thoughts and is in physical pain from the anticipation. 

Bitty steps forward, stands between Jack’s thighs, and smiles down at him. “I’ve got you,” he says, and wraps his fingers around Jack’s dick. It’s soft and hot and feels even bigger in his hand than it looked. Bitty’s mind goes blank for a full second. 

Jack shifts against his hand, mouth falling open, and Bitty leans in. His brushes his lips against Jack’s, feather light, traces inside Jack’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, teasing. Jack tries to catch his lips, but Bitty grins and pulls just out of reach. He strokes Jack’s cock, then swirls his thumb through the wetness over the slit.

“God, I’ve thought about this a lot, what I’d do if I could get you naked.” He leans in just enough to let Jack’s mouth touch his. “I really want to make you come.”

“I…” Jack says, and sighs, eyes closed. “Yeah, sure.” It sounds like something he’d say at practice, so incongruous with the moment. 

“ _Yeah, sure_.” Bitty grins. “But… what do you want?” His fingers tease Jack’s foreskin, thumb still drawing circles on the tip. Jack’s even wetter now, and it’s so fucking hot Bitty can barely stand it. He gives in to the impulse to kiss Jack again, and Jack arches up against him. It’s a filthy kiss, one that’s going to give Bitty spank bank material for weeks. 

“Suck me,” Jack says against his lips, like something out of a dream. He goes from confident to not almost immediately. “I mean, if that’s — if you want—”

He’s so adorable it hurts. Bitty lets his hand drop away from Jack’s erection and reaches for a pillow. “Oh, honey — I’ve wanted to do that for so long. You have no idea.” 

He drops the pillow on the floor in front of him, then goes to his knees between Jack’s thighs. Jack sucks in a breath like he’s gasping in reverse, then mumbles something in French, something that sounds almost reverent. Bitty stares back up at him, waiting to see if he’ll elaborate, and Jack’s expression shifts to one of slight confusion.

“Sorry.”

 _Oh, honey._

Bitty lets his hands slide up Jack’s thighs and leans in so close he can smell how aroused Jack is. “If I can make you forget English, I’ll take it as a compliment.” 

He touches the flat of his tongue to the base of Jack’s dick, right where it juts up from his groin, and licks all the way up. It actually takes a full second. Jack makes a gorgeous sound, but the expression on his face is even better. Bitty wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this, since someone’s mouth was on him. He’s guessing this isn’t going to take very long.

“So, uh… you can come in my mouth.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the tip of Jack’s dick, tongue sliding through the bitter slick there. It’s his first real taste of Jack, and it’s so damn hot he feels his dick pulse in his pants. He wants to taste more of him, for Jack to fill his mouth, to know how many times he’ll have to swallow to get it all down. He wants to know what Jack tastes like today, what he’ll taste like tomorrow, bitter and pungent and maybe a little sweet. “I mean, I’d like that.”

“Uhhh…” Jack closes his eyes like just the idea of it is getting him close. 

“Just warn me, okay?” He might be a little bit of a slut for it, but that’s just good manners.

“Okay.”

He has to open his mouth wider than he ever has before to get Jack’s dick in, but there’s something really hot about that. It takes him a while to work his mouth down — he’s going to have to work on his technique — but it’s worth it when Jack slides fingers into his hair and moans, interspersed with bits of French Bitty can recognize as “yes, good, more.” He wraps one hand around the base of Jack’s dick and slides the other up his hip. Jack catches than hand and laces their fingers together. It’s intimate and hot and sweet all at once.

He tries to take Jack in deeper, pushes himself past the point of comfort and gags a little. It’s a good ache, the sort that is a lot hotter than he would have expected. He does it again, and Jack’s breathing speeds up. His fingers tighten in Bitty’s hair a little, and Bitty’s so hard he almost can’t stand it. 

He pulls off with a laugh — who ever had to take a break from giving a blow job to stop themselves from coming? He leans his head against Jack’s thigh. 

“Lord, I’m gonna come in my pants.”

“Don’t you dare.” Jack’s voice sounds almost desperate. Bitty looks up at him. “Please let me do that.”

Well, Bitty is hardly going to deprive him the opportunity when he asks so nicely. “Okay,” he says, and smirks around Jack’s dick. 

Bitty doesn’t try to take him in so deep right away, just uses his tongue and his lips right where guys (in his experience, anyway) usually like it most. Jack is no exception, clearly close now, and trying very hard to keep his hips still. Just when Bitty’s getting into a good rhythm again, Jack says, “Bits. I’m… I’m—” and Bitty relaxes his jaw, tries to make it as good as he possibly can. 

Jack arches up and comes further back in his mouth than Bitty expected. It happens so fast that Bitty almost can’t get a taste of him, just swallows so he doesn’t choke. It’s not something he’d expected, especially after watching Jack keep such a tight control on himself through the whole blow job. The idea that maybe this is how Jack is, measured and controlled until he comes, and then he just lets go — it’s incredible. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack says when Bitty sits back. 

“Do _not_ apologize for that, good lord.” Bitty grins at him and wipes at his mouth. He’s got spit and more everywhere. “That was hot.”

Jack falls back onto the mattress with a groan. “Oh, god. Okay, I’m gonna… Just give me a minute.”

Bitty stands and looks down at him: his face is flushed and his hair is a mess, and his chest is heaving like he’s still coming down. His dick is still half-hard against his thigh. Bitty wants to lick it until Jack gets hard again. He wants to lick him _everywhere_. 

He sheds the rest of his clothes, then climbs up on the bed and over Jack. He just wants to look at him like this, to know he was the one who did it, who took him apart so beautifully. He’s got a hand on himself before he even realizes it. 

Jack opens his eyes and looks up at him, dazed. He’s fucking gorgeous, and Bitty is going to come on his chest in like, one minute.

“You don’t have to do a thing, actually, just stay right there and—” Bitty leans down to kiss him.

Jack reaches between them and pulls his hand away from himself. “No, you promised.” He sounds indignant. 

“I did no such thing,” Bitty replies. Jack’s fingers wrap around his dick then, and _oh god_ Jack is touching his dick and Bitty realizes how idiotic it would be to protest any further. “But yeah, okay, you go right ahead.”

Jack strokes a few times before stopping, teasing just under the head with dry fingers. “Tell me how you like it.” 

“Ahh… wetter than that.” 

“You have lube?”

Bitty almost laughs. 

Okay, the thing is, he goes through a lot of lube. It was something he discovered early on after reading something online — or lord, maybe even in one of his mom’s magazines: _Ten Easy Tips to Turn Him to Putty in Your Hands!_ He’d started with lotion, then one day slipped a tube of KY into his basket of toiletries before going through the self-checkout line at the drug store. When he’d moved to college, he’d gotten up the nerve to brave one of the sex shops on the edge of campus, and there he’d found some other brands he liked even better… along with a few other items that Jack isn’t going to know anything about anytime soon.

He fishes the bottle from the floor and hands it to Jack with a sheepish smile. It’s… not small, and close to empty. Jack’s eyebrows rise. 

“Shut up, I’ve been jerking off a lot lately.”

Jack smirks, and damn it, it’s sexy as fuck. “I’m not judging.”

“It’s all your fault, anyway.”

“Then let me make it up to you.” Jack holds his gaze for a moment, and then there’s a slick hand on Bitty’s dick. Jack strokes up once and slides his thumb over the head, pressing into the slit. He watches Bitty’s face so closely that it’s suddenly too much.

Bitty closes his eyes and just feels. Jack’s hands are big, and he doesn’t have to move very much to stroke from root to tip. Bitty’s not particularly self-conscious about the size of his dick — he kind of likes that it fills Jack’s hand like this, and will probably fill his mouth perfectly too. Jack speeds up his strokes, and the twist at the top is fucking _perfect_ , so much that Bitty’s suddenly close. Just when he thinks he’s on the edge of coming, though, Jack backs off, strokes him slowly again.

Bitty leans forward and only barely stops himself from biting Jack’s shoulder. “Ugh, you’re evil.” 

“Am I?” Jack sounds a little too proud of himself, but Bitty goes when Jack nudges at his shoulder enough to push Bitty onto his back. Jack stretches out beside him and kisses him, stroking slowly. 

Bitty breathes through his nose, tries to relax, but _fuck_ , he’s so close! He’s been ready to come for what feels like hours now, and it’s not like they can’t do it again later. 

“Yeah,” he says when Jack finally speeds up his movements. “Yeah, like that, but… tighter…”

Jack tightens his grip a little and it’s suddenly perfect. Bitty gasps and his head falls back, and it’s just so much. Jack kisses him, tongue sliding against his and lips scorching, and he’s right there, right there, _right there_ —

He comes in Jack’s hand, against his mouth, breath hot on his lips, with his eyes still squeezed tight. 

He feels light-headed after, blood rushing in his ears in the way he only feels after really good orgasms. “Oh my lord,” he whispers, and blinks up at the ceiling.

“Good?” Jack kisses Bitty’s temple. Bitty can feel the curve of his smile.

“Oh, honey.” Bitty grins and turns to kiss his mouth. 

“This bed is too small,” Jack says after they’ve cleaned up and are curled up together again, Bitty’s covers pulled up over them both.

The bed is small, but it’s not like Jack didn’t know that before. “Next time we’ll do it in your bed, then.” 

“Definitely.” Jack looks like he’s thinking about it right now. 

“Won’t have to be quiet.”

“Mmm, no.” Jack kisses Bitty’s throat, then sucks lightly at the skin there. Bitty sighs and threads fingers into his hair. The sensation of lips on sensitive skin is incredible. Jack hesitates and looks down at him. “Is this okay?”

It’s a moment before Bitty realizes what he’s talking about. “Yeah, just don’t go nuts. Otherwise I’ll have to figure out how to explain it in the locker room.” Well, it’s not like he hasn’t had to do that before, but no one knows Jack is up here tonight, so it would look a little weird to show up tomorrow with a band new hickey. He turns his head a little to give Jack space to work, but Jack just settles back against the pillow instead.

“We should talk about this.” 

Bitty’s stomach twists. That didn’t sound ominous, but it didn’t not, either. He turns onto his side and looks at Jack. Jack is staring back at him with such an incredibly soft expression that it eases Bitty’s mind almost instantly. Jack wants this. He’s not going to back out now.

“So we’re doing this, right?” Bitty asks, injecting as much confidence into his voice as he can manage. “We’re, like, dating, not just hooking up when we can or seeing other people?” 

“Well, yeah. If that’s what you—”

“Yes! God, yes.” Good lord, that is a relief. Jack kisses him, as if to seal the deal, and Bitty smiles. “That’s definitely what I want.”

“Good.” Jack kisses him again.

Bitty lets him himself get lost in the feeling of Jack’s lips on his, of their legs tangled together under the covers, of the comfortable heat between them. He hopes Jack will stay the night. He probably will, considering that it would be awkward to sneak out now. It’s not like Bitty hasn’t had guys sleep over before, of course, even recently, but—

“Shit. Kevin.”

 _Shit_. He totally forgot about him. Fuck, and he’d texted something earlier about maybe stopping by later if he managed to get his paper done. 

“He’s not here right now, is he?” Jack asks. 

“He said he might try to stop by. Oh my god.” He’d seemed really stressed about the paper, and they were still on pretty cool terms anyway, so Bitty hadn’t really expected him to do it — Kevin was more of a “let’s talk about our feelings over brunch” kind of guy. He’s pretty sure Lardo would’ve stepped in if he had come. Lord, he’s gonna owe her big time. 

Jack watches him for a moment, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Then we should stay right here, eh? Just in case.”

“Does this mean I cheated on him? Oh god, it does, doesn’t it?”

Jack expression goes tight at that, and Bitty groans.

Yeah, he just cheated on his boyfriend. With the guy he’s been in love with for years, sure, but still. Kevin had known he’d do it too, had asked Bitty point blank if he’d fuck Jack if Jack offered. He’d known Bitty was evading the question, and he still hadn’t broken it off.

Oh _god_ , Bitty’s an asshole, isn’t he? He’s an awful, awful person, and Jack is probably thinking right now what an awful person he is and wondering why the hell he should be in a relationship with someone like Bitty.

Bitty sighs, and then there’s a brush of lips against his own. Jack’s hand settles on his shoulder, stroking. Bitty opens his eyes and sees Jack looking back at him. His expression is sympathetic, but also clearly happy. He’s happy to be here, happy to be the one Bitty chose, and he’s not judging him.

Bitty exhales. “I guess I’m gonna break up with him tomorrow.”

“You’d better.” Jack’s tone is teasing, almost gleeful, but before Bitty can look too closely, Jack kisses him again. The kiss is full of feeling, and the contrast to the kisses he’s shared with Kevin lately is stark — he never felt this way with Kevin, not even close.

Even if they’d waited until he’d had a chance to officially break up with Kevin before jumping into bed together, he’d still break up with him to date Jack. In the end, maybe it doesn’t really matter that he had sex with Jack before that rather than after. The end result is the same either way. 

Oh god, he had sex with _Jack_. And that’s just the start.

He stretches out on his back and smiles up at Jack. “We were gonna talk.” 

“Right, yeah.” Jack frowns a little and takes a deep breath. “So… I know it’s not going to be easy doing this long distance and… well, quietly.”

Bitty exhales. Okay, that’s a good starting point. “I figured you’d want to keep it a secret.”

“Yeah. It’s not fair to ask you to pretend we’re just friends, but—”

“We _are_ friends. I’ve kind of been a dating disaster anyway. If I say I’m too busy this semester, everyone’ll buy it.”

Jack leans in closer and brushes his nose against Bitty’s forehead. “Just for the rest of the season. I just… Maybe we could think about making it more public after that.”

Whoa. That’s not what Bitty was expecting, at all. “You mean like, come out?” 

“Yeah.” Jack hesitates, like he’s trying to keep himself from freaking out at the thought. “If Whits comes out too, like he says he might, it wouldn’t be just me, you know?”

“Do it right after you lift the Stanley Cup and no one will care.”

Jack’s expression is pained. “Yeah, right. We’ll be lucky to get a wild card spot in the playoffs.” 

“The season’s only half over.”

“That is so not the point here.”

Bitty should know better than to bring hockey into this. “Six months of keeping it a secret.” It might be good for him, honestly. He could throw himself into hockey and school, the way he should have been doing all semester instead of focusing on the drama of his love life. Weirdly, he’s pretty sure he knows what to expect from Jack. “I guess I can handle that.”

“Thank you.” Jack’s smile is so sweet, and when he kisses Bitty again, Bitty feels something melt inside him. Oh, this boy. “I know it sucks.”

“Well, as long as you do, I won’t complain.”

“Jesus, Bittle.” Jack laughs, a little shocked, but he looks pleased too.

“I’d like to tell Lardo, though. Someone around here should have my back.”

“I think she already knows. I’d like to tell Whits. And my parents.”

Bitty gasps before he can stop himself. “Oh god, my parents.”

It never really occurred to him to tell them about Braden or even Kevin, because neither of those relationships felt all that real. They were casual — for him, at least — and he didn’t see them really going anywhere. Why take the risk of coming out to his parents over someone he didn’t think he’d still be dating by the end of the semester?

Jack, though — Bitty won’t be able to talk about Jack without glowing. He’s going to probably spend more time in Providence, and at some point he’s not going to be able to hide that from them. They’re going to ask questions. What if they invite Jack to come visit again? And if Jack comes out before then— 

“You don’t have to tell them anything.”

“But I’d have to tell them before the summer.” Bitty presses his face against Jack’s shoulder. “If you decide to come out, I’m not gonna let the world think you’re single for even a minute.”

“Okay.”

“They’re gonna find out sometime. Maybe the fact I’m dating you would take the sting out of it.” Bitty tucks his head against Jack’s shoulder. It feels comforting, and like something he could get used to really fast. 

They talk softly in the darkness for a while, about nothing and everything, and it’s so easy. Bitty’s slept over with guys before, but it never felt like this: touching constantly, pressed together like they can’t get close enough, breathing each other in. He doesn’t know how he got so damn lucky, but he’s grateful. 

“Are you staying?” he asks at last. He hopes so. He’s not ready to let go of Jack just yet.

“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t leave while the party’s still going.”

“Good lord, no. Can you imagine that headline in The Swallow?” 

Jack goes quiet, tenses under Bitty’s hands. Bitty winces: he shoudn’t be so flippant about things like that. He strokes fingers against Jack’s skin, softly.

“We’ll have to sneak you out somehow. I’m gonna owe Lardo so many favors.” And a dozen pies of her choice. He’ll get started in the morning.

Jack gets up, and for a moment, Bitty thinks he’s messed it up, that Jack is going to get dressed and go. Jack just pulls his phone from his pants pocket, though, and taps at the screen for a moment before setting it on the nightstand next to Bitty’s. 

“We’ll figure it out in the morning.” He slides back into bed and wraps himself around Bitty again, and Bitty sighs in relief.

“If I wake up in the morning and find out this was just a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Jack chuckles against his skin. “Me too.”

“It just… it feels so easy. Is that weird?”

“I don’t know.” 

Bitty kisses his shoulder. “Thank you, okay?”

“For what?”

“For coming here, for telling me how you feel. I mean, it’s been weird lately. I just… thanks for asking me, you know?” 

“Thank you for saying yes.” 

“Like I was gonna say anything else. Lord, Jack.” Bitty yawns and snuggles against Jack’s shoulder.

“Good night, Bitty.”

“Good night, Jack.”

Jack’s breathing even out quickly, and Bitty just listens for a while, his heart still beating loudly in his chest. He really hopes this isn’t a dream.

He presses closer to Jack, mostly to prove to himself that it’s real. The sounds of the party downstairs continue on, strangely distant. No one below knows that Bitty just got everything he ever wanted. Starting tomorrow, he’s going to make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that was so long in coming! After this, I want to skip ahead to the ASW and write some stuff from Parse's POV. I'm not sure how soon I'll get to it, but that's the plan. Thanks for reading!


	21. ASG: Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set just before [chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/16044265), Parse POV, Parse/Whits/OMC, rated E because this is 90% porn, 5500 words

Kent stops in the entrance of the hotel bar and scans the room.

Ah, the All-Star game: an entire weekend during which the biggest egos in the league, along with a dozen other guys who aren’t quite sure how they got here, will drink too much, put on a show for the fans, and try not to get caught doing dumb shit. 

Kent’s a pro at it by now, especially at the last one. He’s done some epically dumb shit during the All-Star weekend in years past, and he’s damn lucky it never found its way onto Twitter. What happens at the ASG stays at the ASG, apparently.

And what happens, in Kent’s experience, is a lot of fooling around. Some guys bring their girlfriends or wives, but a lot of them ship their SOs off to a beautiful warm beach and consider the weekend a free pass. Girls seem to come out of the woodwork at events like this, and Kent’s had his fair share of fun with them. He leans more towards men than women these days, though, and being around a bunch of guys who are looking for a little no-strings action is, in his experience, a basis for a great weekend.

The bad news, though, is that he’s already fucked every guy on this roster who’s not completely straight — plus two that still claim to be, whatever. So the challenge is like, totally gone. He could be in Mexico right now having all kinds of adventures, but no — he has to be the face of the damn franchise, again. He should pull a Crosby next year and fake an injury or something. The one-game suspension would totally be worth it.

Anyway, he’s here now and he’s gonna make the most of it. The moment he walks in this bar, people will start vying for his attention, so he needs to make a plan. Segs is in the back corner at a table with Larkin and Subban. Kent frowns: Segs needs to be the top dog in any group he’s in, and Subban’s presence is already probably pushing it. If Kent joins the group, Segs will pout like a toddler. Dude’s fucking high maintenance. 

Kent rolls his eyes. He’s so over that.

He keeps looking. Over at the bar is Erik Lindhof, a forward for the Aeros and someone Kent hooks up with every now and then. He’s not like, spectacularly good in bed or even all that good-looking, but he’s always up for it, and there’s definitely something to be said for that. Kent’s gaze shifts to the guy Lindhof’s talking to. Even though he can’t see the his face, he recognizes him almost immediately: Taylor Whitton.

His stomach flips a little. He hooked up with Whitton a month or so back, and god _damn_ was that guy hot. He was a great lay too, and fun to talk to — basically exactly the kind of person Kent gets along with best. Kent’s a self-styled slut, even prides himself on it, but every now and then he hooks up with somebody who makes him think about how different it could be. Like, maybe one day he could have a serious relationship, settle down, shit like that.

He winces at himself: wow, where the fuck did that come from? Just because a dude’s ass was so good it made him momentarily rethink his life choices doesn’t mean they’re gonna, like, fall in love with each other or whatever. 

People don’t fall in love with Kent Parson. They like to be seen with him, enjoy fucking around with him, but the reality of Kent is apparently so awful that they never stick around. He stopped expecting them to a long time ago.

It’s not like he doesn’t have his fun, though. He heads over to the bar, watching the two of them. There’s definitely something going on there: Lindhof’s blushing a little, looking up at Whitton and smiling. Whitton reaches out and brushes Lindhof’s arm with his fingers, and Lindhof’s smile widens, practically radiating _please fuck me_. Kent snorts: Lindhof’s so damn easy, especially when a cute guy is flirting with him. Whitton’s working a lot harder than he needs to.

Lindhof finally notices him drawing closer, and his expression turns to one of genuine surprise, like he’s amazed that Kent is looking at _him_ with interest. A moment later, Whitton turns to look too, to see what’s caught the attention of the guy he’s trying to pick up.

A grin spreads slowly across Whitton’s face, and that damn flutter in Kent’s belly makes itself known again. Ugh.

Kent ignores it and walks over to them — no reason to pretend he’s not interested now — and leans casually against the bar. “Hey. ‘Sup?”

“Parse,” Whitton says, and raises a fist in greeting. Kent bumps it and tries to look chill despite the weird fluttering still going on beneath the surface. “When’d you get in?”

“Couple hours ago,” Kent replies. “Hey, Lindy.”

Lindhof waves one hand, trying to look casual too, and utterly failing. “Hey, man.” His gaze slides down Kent’s body and back up again.

It’s so obvious that even Whitton notices. He raises his eyebrows at Kent, then shakes his head, smiling. He doesn’t seem pissed that Kent’s drawn Lindhof’s attention. If anything, he seems to be amused by it. He leans back and smirks at Kent.

Kent smirks back. 

They make small talk, mostly about their seasons so far. They have a few drinks, and they laugh, and it’s cool, easy. Kent’s not really thinking about where it’s all going, not at first. He sees the looks Lindhof keeps shooting at Whitton, though, like he’s still hoping to get picked up tonight and isn’t sure where he stands. Kent basically interrupted them in the middle of it. Not that he feels all that guilty about it — it’s barely 10:00 now, and they’ve got all night. Hell, they’ve got all weekend. Still, it’s not exactly bros to cockblock, so he should probably make an exit soon. 

He drains his drink and gives the two of them a fairly knowing look. “Well, I should let you two get back to your conversation.”

Whitton and Lindhof exchange a quick glance, then Whitton turns an speculative gaze back to Kent. “Or you could join us.”

 _Wow._ Well, he’s not gonna say no to a direct invitation. He leans against the bar again. “Yeah?”

Whitton stares right back at him, eyes glinting. “Yeah.”

They finish their drinks, then head to Whitton’s room. It’s all casual, the three of them acting like it’s no big deal. For all Kent’s fucked around, he hasn’t actually had that many threesomes before; the ones he has had all involved at least one woman. He’s open to new experiences, though, and apparently so are Whitton and Lindhof.

The moment the door closes behind them, Lindhof groans, “Finally,” and practically attacks Whitton, kissing him hard and pushing him towards the bed. Whitton glances at Kent over Lindhof’s shoulder, clearly checking in, but Kent’s okay to watch for now. He shakes his head at Whitton, then drags the room’s single armchair over to the bed and settles in to watch the show. 

Whitton pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor, then stretches out on the bed. He looks up at Lindhof through his goddamn eyelashes — who even does that? — and slides a hand down over the bulge of his own dick. He somehow manages to look both vulnerable and dangerous, but with an edge of total confidence, like he knows exactly what he’s got to offer. 

Kent should probably take notes.

“Fuck,” Lindhof says, and sits back to tug his shirt off too. He’s not nearly as graceful as Whitton was, almost looks desperate. Kent can’t really blame him; his own pants are getting a little tight at the sight of Whitton spread out on the bed, touching himself like he can’t wait another minute to be ravaged like some bodice-ripper novel’s heroine. 

Maybe Kent should stop taking notes and just enjoy the view.

Lindhof climbs over him, straddling his hips, and reaches down to unfasten Whitton’s pants.

“You good, Parse?” Whitton asks, not looking away from Lindhof’s face. Even his voice is dead sexy, _fuck_.

“I’m great,” Kent replies, injecting as much _chill_ into his tone as he can. “Never better.”

Lindhoff gets Whitton’s pants off, and Kent feels a jolt at the sight of his erection. He’s seen it before, obviously, but it’s different knowing he’s hard for someone else. Lindhoff takes Whitton’s dick in his hand and gives it a slow stroke up, then leans down to kiss him. There’s a lot of visible tongue involved, and it should probably be gross, but they’re both so into it that it’s pretty hot. 

Kent’s never really been into voyeurism, but he’s starting to see the appeal.

“Hey,” Whitton says after a few minutes of that. He shifts backward on the bed. He looks up at Lindhof with an expression that’s as slutty as Kent’s ever seen on him. “You should fuck my mouth.”

Lindhof makes a pornographic noise, one Kent echoes from his chair. “Yeah, I — yeah, I can do that.” 

He sits back enough to get his pants off while Whitton fishes a condom from the drawer in the nightstand. He looks over at Kent. 

“You just gonna watch?”

Kent hesitates: he’s cool to just watch this live porno playing out in front of him, and maybe jerk himself off. But… he could get involved and make this into a proper threesome. He usually prefers to be the center of attention in situations like this, but right now he could honestly go either way. Or maybe he should wait it out, sees what happens next.

“For now, yeah.”

Whitton smiles, then turns to watch Lindhof roll the condom on himself. Lindhof crawls up to straddle his chest, then braces himself with one hand on the headboard and feeds Whitton his dick. 

It’s not something Kent likes to be on the receiving end of himself, but it’s pretty damn hot to watch. Whitton’s taking it beautifully, fingers digging into Lindhof’s ass and guiding his movements. He’s still hard too, wet at the tip like he’s getting off on doing this, like he loves getting his mouth fucked.

 _Christ_. Kent adjusts his dick in his pants.

He shifts forward in his chair, trying to get a better view. Between thrusts he gets glimpses of Whitton’s lips stretched around Lindhof’s cock, of Whitton’s eyes squeezed shut, of his throat tensing when Lindhof pushes in deep. 

Lindhof starts grunting when he’s close, pumping his hips erratically. It’s all Kent can do to keep his hand out of his pants when Lindhof comes, gasping. He pulls away and collapses next to Whitton, and presses one hand over his face. “Shit, that was hot.”

Whitton looks _wrecked_ : his mouth is wet and his hair is a riot, and he looks like he’s still catching his breath. “Yeah?”

“You know it was.” Lindhof rolls onto his side and kisses him, more gently now than he did before. Whitton reaches up and slides a hand around the back of his neck. “God, your mouth,” Lindhof says when he pulls away. He glances over at Kent. “Too bad you don’t kiss, Parse. You’re really missing out.”

Whitton shoots Parse a surprised look, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I wanna blow you,” Lindhof says, nuzzling Whitton’s jaw now.

“Fuck, yeah.” Whitton leans over to get another condom. “You still watching, Parse?” He turns to look at Kent.

Kent lets his thighs fall apart and slides a hand down over the bulge in his pants. “It’s a nice view.”

Whitton’s smile looks like an invitation. “It’ll be nicer over here.”

And okay, Kent might be a tease, but he’s not gonna torture himself. He stands up and unfastens his pants, pushes them down and off, underwear and all. He’s pretty sure people’s eyes don’t actually go dark with arousal in real life, but Whitton’s definitely glaze over a little. 

Lindhof chuckles from where he’s stretched out between Whitton’s thighs, and watches as Kent climbs onto the bed and settles behind Whitton. “You should touch him.”

“Yeah?” Kent shoves a pillow between his back and the headboard, then pulls Whitton against his chest. His cock is pressed up against Whitton’s lower back, and he wonders for a moment if he could manage to get off like this.

“Yeah,” Whitton says, relaxing against him. No one’s even touching his dick yet, but he already looks blissed out, like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Or maybe he just really likes sex that much and always looks like this when someone’s about to suck his dick. 

Clearly more data is required to answer that one.

Lindhof rolls a condom onto Whitton’s dick and gets right to it, sucking Whitton down in one movement. He starts bobbing his head, and Whitton tenses slightly.

Kent snorts. “Jesus, Lindy, you’re not sucking him off in a supply closet after a game. Take it easy.”

Lindhof hold up a middle finger, but he slows down anyway. Whitton makes a satisfied sound, and Kent slides his hands over Whitton’s shoulders, down to his chest. He flicks at one nipple experimentally — he honestly can’t remember if Whitton is into that or not — and watches his face for a reaction.

Whitton’s mouth falls open as that nipple tightens under Kent’s fingers. Okay, nipple play is a go. 

He keeps his touch light and watches the action for a minute. Lindhof’s giving a pretty boring blow job from the looks of it: he’s got a slow, steady rhythm going, but Kent’s pretty sure there’s not much else going on down there. Lindhof’s not bothering to pay attention to Whitton’s reactions, either — he’s getting off more from Kent’s fingers than Lindhof’s mouth. 

Looks like Kent’s going to have to take over.

“Hey, Lindy,” Kent says, and waits until he looks up, mouth somehow forming a frown even around a mouthful of dick. “You should use your tongue more. He likes that.” 

Lindhof rolls his eyes in response, but Kent can tell by the shape of his mouth that he starts doing it.

Whitton threads the fingers of one hand into Lindhof’s hair. “God, like that, yeah.” 

Lindhof makes brief eye contact with Kent, and Kent smirks. Honestly, it’s not that hard to suck dick well. 

“Nnngh, yeah,” Whitton says, drawing both their attention. He’s so responsive, not a bit self-conscious, and so fucking gorgeous. Kent traces the shell of Whitton’s ear with the tip of his tongue, and Whitton moans so softly in response that Kent’s pretty sure it was meant just for him. 

“I got you, babe,” he whispers. He tugs Whitton’s ear gently with his teeth, then kisses the skin just behind it. He reaches down to play with one of Whitton’s nipples again, watching Lindhof work his dick. He’s putting more effort in now: his eyes are closed and his mouth is wet, and he’s making little sounds like he’s really getting into it. One hand is playing with Whitton’s balls, tugging on them gently. Whitton’s thighs spread even wider.

“Want him to finger you?” Kent asks, loud enough for Lindhof to hear too.

“Fuck, yeah,” Whitton replies, head nodding against Kent’s shoulder.

Lindhof pulls off and looks up, a little wild-eyed. “Yeah, okay.”

Kent opens the drawer the condoms were in and finds a bottle of lube in there too. He tosses it to Lindhof. He can’t help arching his hips up against Whitton’s back when he settles against the headboard again. It’s not quite the right angle to rub off on him, but he’s at the point where any pressure on his dick feels really good.

Whitton chuckles. “Don’t worry, Parse. We’ll take care of you too.”

“You better,” Kent says, watching one of Lindhof’s hands disappear between Whitton’s thighs. “Don’t finger him yet,” Kent tells him, and okay, he is _really_ enjoying the hell out this. “Just tease him with it.” 

Lindhof stares up at Kent almost blankly, but he apparently does it, because Whitton makes a soft needy sound, like he wants more than what he’s currently getting.

“Yeah, like that, press around the rim while you suck him some more, and work your way up to pushing one in.” Kent slides fingers into Whitton’s hair and tugs, tilts his head to one side. “Go slow, no matter how much he begs.”

“Fucker,” Whitton says, but he moans when Kent drags his teeth down the sensitive skin under his jaw.

He can tell when Lindhof finally pushes in, partly from the movement of his arm, but also from the way Whitton whines and bites his lip. Lindhof fucks him slowly with that finger, timing it with the movements of his mouth.

Whitton’s eyes are closed and his lips are parted, and his expression is somewhere between anticipation and bliss. Kent can tell it’s not quite enough, but that he’s being patient, happy to ride this wave for as long as they’ll let him. 

“Add another finger,” Kent says a couple of minutes later. “And pick up the pace.”

“Fuck,” Whitton groans, hips shifting up a little now like he can’t help himself.

“God, you should see yourself,” Kent says, gaze raking over Whitton’s chest. “You look hot as fuck like this, with two fingers up our ass and your dick down Lindy’s throat.” He slides his hands down Whitton’s arms and presses his elbows into the mattress. “I’ll bet you like this too, being held down while someone fucks and sucks you.”

Lindhof and Whitton moan in unison, and yeah, Kent’s hit a nerve now. 

“Yeah, I think you do. You’re such a slut for it, aren’t you? You’re so good, babe. We’re gonna take good care of you, me and Lindy.”

Lindhof whimpers around Whitton’s dick, like he’s the one Kent’s talking to. Kent tucks that thought away for later, keeps his focus on Whitton. He seems close now, chest heaving, hips shifting against Lindhof’s mouth. Kent can see Lindhof’s hand moving, can see those fingers fucking into him roughly, without much finesse. Whitton doesn’t seem to mind, though, so Kent doesn’t intervene. He keeps talking instead, says every dirty thing that pops into his mind. The words rile Whitton up even more, and Kent files that bit of data away too. 

He’s loud when he comes, his body tensing against Kent’s. It’s an amazing sound, one that goes right to Kent’s balls, and _damn_ , Kent definitely wants to make him sound like that again. 

“Holy shit,” Whitton says after, pulling his arms out of Kent’s grip. He presses his hands over his face and groans. “Fuck.”

Lindhof stares up at Kent from between Whitton’s thighs. His eyes are wide and almost wild.

“Good job, bud,” Kent says, grinning.

“You should fuck me,” Lindhof says. 

_Jesus._ It’s all Kent can do to stay chill at that. He manages a cool smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Lindhof is hard again, which is eight kinds of awesome, and before Kent can even get a condom on, he’s whining with his ass in the air. Whitton leans back against the headboard to watch, still recovering from his own orgasm. Kent raises his eyebrows at him, and Whitton grins lazily.

“My turn to watch.”

“Hurry the fuck up,” Lindhof groans. 

Kent slaps his ass, then reaches for the lube. Lindhof always likes it a little rough, so Kent doesn’t do much prep, just enough to get him slick before he pushes his dick in. Lindhof groans, hands fisting in the hotel comforter, and buries his face in a pillow.

“Yeah, yeah, do it,” he says, and Kent doesn’t have to be asked twice. 

He’s actually not sure how long he’s gong to be able to last, considering how worked up he is tonight. Whitton’s fucked-out, satisfied face isn’t going to help matters much, so Kent tries not to look at him, just focuses on fucking Lindhof into the mattress. 

“Ah, shit, yeah,” Lindhof says when he gets the angle right, and then, “come on, fuck me, do it.” 

Kent decides to interpret that as _harder_. He can’t get great traction on the satiny comforter — they really should have taken that off the bed first — but he gets a firm hold on Lindhof’s hips, which helps.

Helps Lindhof, maybe, but Kent’s suddenly hanging on by a thread. He’s on the edge of coming, and trying desperately to stave it off, to think of anything but what he’s doing. Whitton moves closer then, and for a wild second Kent almost loses his control. If Whitton tries to touch him right now, he’s gonna go off, and he really wants to make sure Lindhof comes first.

Whitton’s not looking at Kent, though. “Can I give you a hand?” he says to Lindhof, who whimpers in response. Whitton reaches under him to work his dick, and Kent closes his eyes, tries not to think about anything in particular. It’s just another minute before Lindhof comes, ass tightening around Kent in waves, whispering a jumble of words Kent doesn’t understand. He opens his eyes: Whitton is carding fingers through Lindhof’s hair, soothing him, but he’s looking right at Kent. His eyes are wide and brown, and his cheeks are flushed, and his sweat-damp hair falls around his face almost artfully. His expression is heated and full of want, like watching Kent on the verge of coming is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

Kent comes, and never breaks eye contact with Whitton.

They both stare at each other after. Whitton looks a little dazed, but he smiles like they just shared a secret. Hell, maybe they did. Kent smiles back in a way he’s sure looks pretty dorky, but Whitton just smiles even wider. 

It’s suddenly too much, so he heads to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and wash his hands. He feels more composed when he comes out again. 

Lindy rolls off the bed and takes it next, closing the door behind him. 

Whitton tugs the comforter off the bed, grimacing at it. “I’m gonna have to leave the cleaning staff a big tip.”

“Sorry. Guess we should’ve thought about that.”

Whitton leans back on the bed and smiles up at him. “You gonna come over here and keep me warm?”

That damn flutter starts up in Kent’s stomach again, and he resolutely ignores it. Whitton looks like he’ll up for another round in a bit, and Kent’s definitely down for that. “Maybe.”

The bathroom door opens and Lindhof emerges. He picks up his clothes and starts getting dressed.

Kent sits on the bed, leaning back on his hands. “You hitting it and quitting it, like usual?”

Lindhof snorts. “Like you’re one to stay and cuddle, Parse.”

“Your loss.” Kent retorts.

“I’m meeting a friend for a drink,” Lindhof continues. “He’s probably already in the bar, wondering where the hell I am.” He digs his phone out of his pants pocket and taps out a text. 

“Show up looking like that and he won’t have to wonder.” Kent smirks at him.

Lindhof flips him off and continues getting dressed. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, I guess?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Whitton says through a yawn. One hand settles on Kent’s back, fingers tracing circles. “Thanks for the stellar beej.”

Lindhof grins and pulls his shoes on. “This was fun. We should do it again sometime.” He gives them both a little wave as he heads out the door.

Kent sighs and lies back on the bed. His head ends up on Whitton’s thigh, which provides him an interesting view of his junk. Whitton’s fingers slide into his hair and scratch pleasantly against his scalp. 

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Kent could probably fall asleep like this, but it would be a lot more comfortable if he didn’t. He scoots up the bed and stretches out next to Whitton. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Whitton smiles and turns onto his side. “I’m glad you came up tonight. That was a lot more fun than it probably would’ve been.”

Kent scoots closer, brushes his nose against Whitton’s. He’s wanted to kiss him for a solid hour now, so he does it. Whitton makes a soft sound and kisses him back, and cups his fingers over Kent’s jaw.

“Why does Lindhof think you don’t kiss?” he asks, then traces the inside of Kent’s upper lip with the tip of his tongue. 

Kent sighs and presses his lips against Whitton’s again, soft and plush. “Because I don’t.”

Whitton laughs and deepens the kiss, rolls them over so that he’s on top of Kent, his weight pressing him into the mattress. They make out for a couple of minutes, slow and easy with no particular destination in mind. It’s good, and it’s something Kent almost never does. 

Whitton pulls away and looks down at him. “For someone who doesn’t kiss, you’re pretty good at it.”

Kent snorts. “Okay, fine. It’s not that I don’t ever kiss people. It’s that I don’t kiss everybody I hook up with.”

Whitton settles down beside him again. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… really intimate, I guess.”

Whitton gives him an incredulous look. “More intimate than sticking your dick in somebody?”

“Yeah.” Kent shrugs. “I mean, there’s always a condom on a dick, no bodily fluids get exchanged. You know what kind of germs are in your mouth?”

“No, but they’re in your mouth too, now.” Whitton quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but you’re…” Kent stops himself from saying what he really wants to say, that kissing is intertwined with _feelings_ for him, that he learned a long time ago that he can fuck people and not feel anything about it, but once he kisses them, it’s hard not to feel… things. Things that tend to become really inconvenient. “Hot,” he finishes.

Whitton’s expression is one of amusement. “So you only kiss people you think are hot?”

No, that’s not it, but the truth isn’t something he’s ready to talk about. “Yeah,” he says, knowing it probably makes him sound like a shallow asshole. 

Whitton grins. “So you’re saying you think I’m hot.”

Now they’re back in familiar territory. Kent slides a hand down Whitton’s chest. “Bro, you _know_ you’re smokin’. Don’t front with me.” 

Whitton kisses him again, and Kent lets his mind drift for a while. Whitton’s dick nudges Kent’s thigh, and Kent reaches for it, giving it a squeeze. 

“You up for more?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Whitton says, and fumbles for the bottle of lube. 

Kent gets his hand good and wet and strokes slowly. Hand jobs aren’t exactly his specialty, but Whitton’s mouth feels amazing against his, and he’s not ready to stop kissing him just yet. Whitton shifts closer and grinds against him, and that’s good too. Kent pulls his hand away and they do that for a while, humping like teenagers, mouths locked together. It feels better than Kent would have expected. 

He slides his hand around to Whitton’s ass and squeezes, then keeps going, dips his fingers into the cleft of Whitton’s ass. He presses a still-slick finger against Whitton’s hole, circling slowly, just intending to tease, but Whitton whines and pushes his ass back against it. He’s still a little wet and loose from being fingered earlier, and it slides in easily. Kent fucks him a little, keeping it gentle, enjoying the heat of him. He presses in a little more, angling until he finds his prostate, and circles the tip of his finger over that little bump.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Whitton says into his mouth, “yeah, keep doing that, god.”

“Jesus,” Kent whispers, and presses a little harder. Whitton’s ass clenches around his fingers. “Like that?”

“No, no, that’s too much, do it like before.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kent says, and lightens his touch again. He can feel Whitton’s dick hot and hard against his own, trapped between their bodies.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good.”

Kent is nearly overwhelmed by how hot this is, at the way Whitton’s reacting. He pulls his finger out and adds more lube, then pushes two back in. Whitton slings one leg over Kent’s like he’s trying to open himself up as much as he can. The angle is weird and Kent’s wrist is going to ache in a few minutes, but he doesn’t care. Next time they’ll do this in a better position, and maybe Kent will suck him off at the same time, but right now, he doesn’t want to stop kissing him. 

Whitton’s breathing hard against his lips now, like he’s getting close, even though Kent’s barely touching his dick. “Can you come like this?” 

“Yeah, I can, don’t stop,” Whitton says.

Kent doesn’t stop, just watches and listens, making small adjustments in his touch, ramping up the stimulation. A few minutes later, Whitton’s groaning into Kent’s neck, clenching around his fingers, wet warmth spreading out on Kent’s stomach.

“Oh my god,” Kent says, closing his eyes. He’s never made a guy come without touching his dick before, and honestly, that’s saying something. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Nnngh,” is all Whitton manages, totally limp against him. 

Kent pulls his fingers out slowly and pushes Whitton over onto his back. There’s a mess of lube and come between them, and it’s somehow completely gross and hot as fuck at the same time.

“I’m gonna rub off on you,” Kent tells him.

“You can fuck me if you want.” Whitton’s arms go around him, slide down to his ass.

“Nah, I’m literally gonna come in thirty seconds.” Kent settles between Whitton’s thighs and ruts into the mess between them. Whitton digs fingers into Kent’s ass and kisses him, dirty and wet, and Kent comes within a minute.

He collapses on Whitton after, brain fuzzy. Whitton strokes his back and sighs.

“Damn, Parse. Why am I not surprised you’re so good with your hands?”

Kent laughs into his neck. “I’m pretty good with a stick too.”

“I’m aware.” 

They stay like that for a minute more before Kent rolls off to the side.

Whitton looks down at himself and grimaces. “I need a shower, but I’ll settle for a washcloth.”

“Full same, bro. I got you.” Kent heads to the bathroom and quickly cleans himself up. He stares at his reflection for a moment: his hair is a mess and his cheeks are flushed, and he’s got the beginnings of a hickey on his neck, though he doubts it’ll still be there in the morning. Basically, he looks really well-fucked right now. He hopes Whitton’s not about to kick him out — that’d be one hell of a walk of shame to the other tower where his room is. Better to do it early in the morning when he’s less likely to get caught.

He brings back a wet washcloth and swipes it across Whitton’s stomach.

Whitton squirms away. “Ugh, you asshole — that’s cold!”

“It’ll warm up, you big baby, c’mere.” He cleans him up slowly, then pushes his thighs apart to get at the mess of lube there. He dabs gently around Whitton’s hole. “Sore?”

“A little.” Whitton looks away like he’s embarrassed, and Kent drops the subject. 

He tosses the cloth over towards the bathroom, then settles down against Whitton’s side again. He drapes an arm across Whitton’s chest.

“You staying?” Whitton asks, voice soft in the dim light.

“I’m too tired to find my clothes right now.”

Whitton kisses Kent’s forehead. “I thought you didn’t cuddle.” 

“I don’t,” Kent says, snuggling into Whitton’s shoulder. He’ll want a blanket over him soon, but right now he doesn’t want to move.

“Yeah, sure.” Whitton sounds amused. He wraps an arm around Kent and pulls him in closer. “Sleep well, buddy.”

“You too,” Kent replies, already lost in how warm and solid Whitton feels next to him.

He vividly remembers the night Whitton slept over. He never lets people stay, almost never invites them home, for that matter — quick hookups in dark corners are usually all he wants from someone, all he has the energy for. He’d thought at the time that it was just a one-time thing, that Whitton had conveniently happened to be there on a night when Kent had been in the mood for something different, that Whitton had obliged him because he was a decent guy.

Whitton’s obliging him again, like the decent guy Kent knows he is. It’s nice, but Kent knows better than to let himself think it’s anything more than that. 

“G’night,” Whitton mumbles, sounding like he’s already drifting off.

“Night,” Kent replies.

So yeah, there’s shit to think about here, definitely. Feelings he’s trying very hard to ignore, but he’ll deal with it later. Much later. Just for this weekend, he’s gonna have fun.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was so incredibly fun and self-indulgent to write. I have a few more of these ASG scenes coming, and I'm really enjoying working on them. Thank you so much for humoring me and this tiny ship that only exists in this fanfic universe! The fact that people other than me care about Taylor Whitton and his happiness is genuinely amazing. <3


	22. ASG: Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Deets:** Set before, during, and after [chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6126172/chapters/16044265), Parse POV, Parse/Whits, offscreen Whits/OMC, rated E, 6800 words

His bladder is what wakes him up. It’s a moment before he remembers where he is, which is not in his room, and not alone in this bed. 

A beam of sunlight streaks across the floor, piercing the gap between the blackout shades. It’s just enough light to see by as Kent slips out of bed and tiptoes to the bathroom. The toilet flush is unexpectedly loud in the morning quiet, almost roaring in his ears. His mouth feels gross, so he rinses it out with a sip from the little hotel bottle of mouthwash. His eyes are dry too — he often sleeps in his contacts, but he usually also has eye drops handy. He squeezes his eyes shut, then blinks a few times. Ugh. 

He hesitates before opening the door again. Morning-afters are awkward as fuck, and he’s not really sure where things stand with Whitton. Are they buddies? Friends with benefits? Guys who hook up every now and then? If Whitton’s still asleep, should Kent just go, or wake him up before he makes his exit? Fuck, he doesn’t even know what time it is. 

He flicks the bathroom light off, then opens the door and waits for his eyes to adjust again. 

The lump on the bed shifts. “Morning,” Whitton says, voice muffled by a pillow. “Whatimesit?”

Well, that’s one less thing to worry about. Kent takes a few steps forward until he can see the clock on the nightstand. “Eight-thirty.” 

“Don’t you have a thing?”

“Yeah, at 11:00.” He frowns — was that a hint to get out? 

Whitton slides out of bed and stretches. He’s completely naked, his dick half-hard and hanging between his thighs like an invitation. “Sweet, then you can order us breakfast while I shower.”

“Uh… yeah, sure.” Kent forces himself to look up at Whitton’s face again. Whitton smirks a little, like he thinks he caught Kent sneaking a peek. Kent looks down again, pointedly, just to prove he isn’t embarrassed. “I’ll get one of everything, since you’re paying.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Whitton replies, grinning. He disappears into the bathroom.

Kent doesn’t actually order one of everything, but almost. 

“For how many?” the woman on the phone asks.

“Two,” he tells her, and she doesn’t even sound surprised.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitton, it’ll be up in 20 to 30 minutes.”

He wonders what the odds are that she’d recognize his voice and know he was in the wrong room. Considering that this is Nashville, not very high.

He opens the shades, letting the morning light in. The mess they made of the room is sort of glaringly obvious now, with the come-stained comforter piled by the foot of the bed and the sheets a rumpled mess. Kent’s clothes are strewn around the floor with Whitton’s. He shakes them out and puts them back on. He looks pretty rumpled, but it’s not like anyone he’d run into would be all that surprised he hadn’t slept in his own room last night. As long as they don’t know exactly who he spent the night with, it’s all good.

His phone is still in his pants pocket. It’s also at 8% battery, which doesn’t bode well for the day he’s about to have. He glances at the nightstand, where Whitton’s phone is plugged in. He’s got an iPhone too, and he probably won’t mind if Kent borrows the charging cable for a little while. He swaps out Whitton’s phone with his own. It buzzes in his hand; he turns it over out of habit and glances at the screen.

It’s not that he isn’t nosy — because he totally is — but obviously phones are private and you don’t just go around snooping into someone else’s. And he wouldn’t have, except that the screen of Whitton’s phone is filled with a string of text notifications from one person. One very unhappy person named Dani, from the looks of it. 

The shower is going strong, so Kent scrolls down to the bottom of the notifications. Jesus, there’s like fifteen of them. The first one came shortly after midnight, probably around the time they were wrapping up their threesome.

_Hey I miss you. Call me._

A half dozen variations on that theme follow, each spaced about five minutes apart, and then a missed call and a voicemail from Dani around 1:00. After that, the comments take on a distinctly different tone:

_You too busy having fun to answer the fucking phone?_

_Get a little attention and ur too good for me huh?_

_I just thought Id be nice and call you and you cant even answer_

_Better make sure those nhl stars on your dick tonight can keep a secret_

This is followed by three more missed calls and two voicemails, and then:

_You know what I dont even care_

_Fuck who you want and see what that gets you_

_Gonna look like an asshole on tv anyway so you might as well get some dick out of it_

_Yeah keep ignoring me asshole_

_FUCK YOU_

And then nothing more until around an hour ago:

_Shit babe im sorry_

_I was pretty drunk last night and didnt mean any of that_

_Im glad you didnt answer_

_Dont listen to those voicemails_

_Im an asshole and Im so sorry_

_I love you_

_Call me_

The latest text, from just a minute ago says, _Ur probably still asleep. I should be, its like 4 am here_

The phone buzzes again in Kent’s hand: _I just puked thats how fucked up I was last night. Im so sorry. I love you_

The shower turns off and Kent almost drops the phone. He switches it off again and sets it face down on the nightstand. 

What the actual fuck?

Does Whitton have a relationship situation he doesn’t talk about? He’s never mentioned a boyfriend or girlfriend, and doesn’t exactly act like he’s got one. Not that Kent’s judging — he’s all for open relationships — but usually people in those make that clear, in his experience. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d outright cheat either. Again, not judging: sometimes Kent meets people who want to suck his dick so much they’re willing to cheat on somebody else to do it, and who is he to deny them? This Dani seems to know what’s up, anyway, not that they seem particularly happy about it.

Do they always talk to Whitton like that? Christ. It’s not like Kent’s never been an asshole to someone he cares about. He lashes out when he’s angry, tends to go for people’s weak spots — he’s not proud of it. But this feels… different. It’s too much like the shit his asshole stepfather hurls at Kent’s mom when he thinks Kent’s too far away to hear it. 

It’s none of his business, he knows, but Whitton’s a really decent guy, always happy and confident and openly affectionate. It doesn’t even make sense that he’d be in a relationship with someone who’d say that kind of shit, even if they were drunk. 

“You want the shower?” Whitton calls from the bathroom.

“Nah, I’ll just go back to my room after we eat.” He picks up his own phone settles on the bed to check his email. Blah blah, his agent wants him to call; his publicist set up a meeting with that ESPN reporter for tomorrow; one of the assistant coaches wants him to contact the guy the Aces just picked up on waivers and welcome him to the team. Kent fires off that email right away.

Whitton emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, hair toweled dry and still completely naked. He picks up his phone and sits cross-legged on the bed with it. Kent would ordinarily take advantage of the opportunity to check out his junk, but Whitton’s strained expression as he looks at his phone catches his attention.

“Something wrong?” 

Whitton frowns at his phone. “My ex is texting me, and it’s… I don’t even know.”

Kent feels an unexpected wave of relief. “Your ex, huh?” 

Whitton scrolls with one thumb, gaze still fixed on the phone. “I hooked up with him a few weeks ago, and ever since he’s been saying he wants to get back together.” 

“Whoa. So… do you want to get back together?”

Whitton drops the phone and sighs. “I don’t know. He was my college boyfriend, and we were together for years, but it ended really badly and… I mean, I do miss him, but I don’t know if I want to do the long distance thing again.”

“Huh,” Kent says. There are a lot of things he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to let on that he read some of those texts. Besides, it’s not like he has much experience with relationships. He’s not a relationships kind of guy. 

Before he can formulate any kind of response, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Must be breakfast,” Whitton says, hopping off the bed and heading to the bathroom. “Can you get it while I get dressed?”

“What, you don’t eat breakfast naked too?”

“You wish.” Whitton grins and closes the bathroom door behind him.

Kent signs for breakfast, ignoring the surprised look on the bellboy’s face. He leaves a big tip and hopes that’ll be enough to keep the guy’s mouth shut about whose room Kent Parson is in this morning.

Whitton comes out of the bathroom again, then digs in his suitcase for team-branded sweats and a t-shirt. He pulls them on while Kent lifts the domes on the food and checks it all out.

“Shit, you really did get one of everything.”

Kent holds up a plate with a slightly wilted waffle on it. “If there’s a ever a weekend to blow your nutrition plan, I guess this is it.” His voice lacks conviction, though: room service food is somehow never as good as he expects it to be.

Whitton grabs a plate and they eat, dividing up the various dishes and bickering over condiments. Whitton seems surprised that Kent claims half the salsa for his own eggs.

“I thought that was a Texas thing.”

Kent snorts. “Bro, that’s like a southwestern thing.”

“Texas isn’t in the southwest.”

“Says who?” Kent smirks at him through a mouthful of omelet.

“Says Texas,” Whitton retorts, smirking right back.

It’s fun and easy, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Kent doesn’t usually make friends so quickly, and it keeps catching him by surprise that it doesn’t feel awkward or stilted. Maybe Whitton’s just that kind of person, so easy to be around that even someone as fucked up as Kent can do it.

Hell, the dude is friends with Jack Zimmermann, so maybe there’s something to that.

The texts from Dani flit through his mind again. There must be more to that story. Kent knows better than to judge a person from one example of bad behavior — everybody fucks up sometimes. It’s the pattern that’s important, and he doesn’t know enough to know if that text exchange was typical. Whitton seemed disturbed by it, but not particularly surprised, which—

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something,” Whitton says.

Kent shrugs. “Not really. Just have a crazy day, you know. Media, the Fan Fair, lunch and dinner meetings with people I have to pretend to like.”

“Ah, yeah, me too. I’ll probably hit the bar tonight.” He raises his eyebrows. “See if I can get lucky again.”

Kent grins. “Knowing who all is here this weekend, I think your chances are pretty good.” 

*****

By the time Kent finally gets back to the hotel that night, he’s so tired he almost just goes straight up to his room. He’s spent the entire day talking to people he doesn’t know, people who want things from him, who watch him with sharp eyes, waiting for him to slip up and say something juicy, something real. He’s a master at that game, so it’ll never happen. It’s still fucking exhausting. 

The noise of the crowd in the hotel bar draws him in anyway. He sees so many people he knows — players current and retired, coaching staff, trainers — all relaxing and having a good time together. The tension begins to ease in his shoulders as he stands there, scanning the room. Eh, he’s not _that_ tired. Maybe one drink, then he’ll head up.

Just past the bar in a large booth, a group of guys laughs uproariously as they pile on top of one another. Someone’s taking photos of the whole thing, a smallish blond guy, who… looks awfully familiar. Kent frowns in disbelief, and walks closer to get a better look. Whitton’s there, as is Seguin and Subban and Gadreau, and a couple of others, but the weirdest fucking thing of all is that Jack Zimmermann himself is right in the middle of the bunch. Which, considering Eric Bittle is taking the picture, should probably not be all that surprising. 

Kent can think of five different reasons why Bittle might be here this weekend. All but one of them make zero sense, and that one that does — well, color Kent impressed by the apparent size of Jack’s balls.

Kent slips in behind Bittle and peeks over his shoulder. The photo he’s framing is a good one, the lighting surprisingly flattering on the screen of his phone.

“Well, this is cute,” Kent says. 

Bittle jumps, then shoots Kent a mild glare. Still no love lost there, apparently. Kent’s not completely sure why Bittle hates him so much. Well, no, that’s a lie: Kent was a total dick to him the first — only — time they met. To be fair, he’d just had his heart broken and wasn’t really in the mood to be pleasant to anyone. They follow each other on Twitter and Instagram now, but Kent supposes some people just dislike their SO’s exes on principle. 

And for the record, that’s the one reason it makes sense for Bittle to be here. See Jack Zimmermann’s giant balls above.

Jack looks pretty damn happy, especially considering he’s currently under several hundred pounds of hockey player. That’s the sort of thing he always stayed far away from when Kent knew him. 

“And Zimms in the middle of the pile,” Kent says, smirking at him. “Never thought I’d see that.”  


Jack flips him off, smiling even wider, and _damn_ — that has no right to hurt anymore, what the fuck? Kent rolls his eyes, shakes his head. Yeah, fine, he gets it: Jack is really fucking happy now that Kent’s firmly in the rear view mirror. Great.

“You jealous, Parse?” Subban says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

_Hell, yes._

“Fuck, no.” Kent laughs and hopes it doesn’t sound forced. His gaze meets Jack’s again. Jack looks thoughtful. Kent looks away. 

He should just go. He’s feeling really fucking off tonight anyway, and his exhaustion is still there, tugging at him from the inside. Even with these guys, he has to pretend to be the big star, smiling and confident, and he just doesn’t have it in him to do it for another hour. Not when he’s going to have to do it again all day tomorrow, and the next. 

Most of the guys head off, though, some toward the bar, some to other tables, other gatherings, and then it’s just Jack, Bittle, and Whitton left in the booth. Jack slides over to look at the screen of Bittle’s phone, and his face lights up. Whether it’s from the photo he sees or if that’s just how he looks when he’s next to Bittle, Kent has no idea. He doesn’t want to know, either: it’s gross, the two of them being all happy. 

And fucking obvious, _christ_. Kent looks around, wondering if anyone else is seeing this. Whitton’s eyebrows lift when their gazes meet, and Kent wonders if he thinks Jack and Bittle are gross and obvious too. Leaving Whitton alone with them would be kind of rude, right? Kent and Whitton are definitely bros at this point, and bros don’t let bros third wheel.

Kent slides into the booth next to Whitton and bumps his shoulder. Whitton looks surprised, but not unhappily so. 

“So what’s the plan?” Kent slides an arm along the back of the booth behind Whitton, who leans into him like it’s a habit.

“Nothing lined up for tonight yet. You gonna wingman for me?” His expression is cheeky, almost faux-innocent. His hair falls into his face, and he tilts his head to flip it out of his eyes. God, his _eyes_. 

Kent suddenly wants to drag him back to his room and do dirty things to him. Whitton would probably be up for it. He hesitates, smirking a little. “Maybe.”

Whitton pouts. “I helped you out last night.”

“Like you didn’t benefit?”

“Shut up.” He’s trying not to smile, and really failing. 

“But seriously, I’m up for whatever.” Kent shrugs. “I’ve had everyone here worth having. No offense, Bittle.”

Bittle doesn’t look up, but his expression is icy as fuck. Ha, it’s almost too easy.

Whitton’s elbow pokes into his side, drawing Kent’s attention again. “Other than the obvious, who?”

Kent casts a glance at Jack and Bittle, then leans in close enough to whisper in Whitton’s ear. “At some point in the last six years, I’ve touched the dicks of about half of the guys here this weekend.”

Whitton pulls back enough to give him an incredulous look. “Bullshit.”

“Well, you’ll just have to find out for yourself, huh?” Whitton’s cheeks are slightly pink now, and Kent grins. “I’ve fucked every guy who even remotely swings that way in the entire western conference.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Whitton laughs, and it sounds an awful lot like a dare.

“Okay, fine. Name a team.”

“Okaaaay… The Schooners.”

Kent doesn’t like to name names, of course — that’s just rude — but some of these guys aren’t even in the league anymore, so he can be vague. “Backup goalie. Finnish, huge dick.” He could barely fit his mouth around it, he remembers. “And crazy flexible.”

Whitton shakes his head like he doesn’t believe a word of it. Jack and Bittle are gaping at him. Kent’s pretty damn glad he didn’t go straight up to his room now.

“Okay,” Whitton says, eyes narrowing. “The Ducks.”

He’s hooked up with two guys currently on the team, but it’s safer to go with someone who’s since moved on. “He got traded at the end of last year, but there was this fourth line winger from Vancouver. He wanted me to tie him up with stick tape.”

Whitton’s expression changes, like maybe he’s starting to realize Kent’s telling the truth. “The Blackhawks.”

Ah, here’s where he’s got to be careful. He leans in close enough to whisper the name of a very good-looking and also very married player, and Whitton’s reaction is instantaneous. 

“Oh fuck, no. You’re lying out of your ass!”

“Fine, don’t believe me. But next time you play them, mention my name to him and see what happens.”

“Whatever.” Whitton rolls his eyes. “Okay… the Stars.”

Oh, _honestly_. Kent knows for a fact Whitton’s already hooked up with that one. Christ, everyone has. He raises his eyebrows, and Whitton laughs.

“Okay, yeah, I know that one already. Who else? Surprise me.”

Best to get away from the well known ones. Kent thinks through teams the Falcs wouldn’t play often, guys it’s less likely they would know. Aha, right: “The Avs.”

Whitton’s expression shifts into something almost suspicious at that. “Go on.”

Jack and Bittle are listening even more intently now, so Kent leans in closer, lowering his voice as much as he can without actually whispering. “So we play them like five times a season, right? Last year they got this rookie, a big D-man, Swedish, I think. He’s a massive asshole, you know? Called me every name he can think of on the ice. But after? He fucking begged to suck my dick.” He shakes his head at the memory. “Seriously, how fucked up is that? Dude called me a fag half a dozen times, then shoved me in a closet and dropped to his knees.”

“Shut up, Parse,” Jack says, his voice tight. 

Kent ignores him. “And that was just the first time we played them. The second time—” 

“Excuse me,” Whitton says, and then he’s up and over the back of the booth before Kent quite realizes what’s happened. He walks away, and even from the back, Kent can see the line of tension in his body. 

“Shit,” Jack groans.

Bittle glares at Kent, already getting to his feet. “I’ll go.” He heads off in the direction Whitton went.

Kent seems to have fucked up, but he honestly doesn’t know how. He turns to Jack, who looks about as angry as Kent can remember seeing him. “What the hell is going on?” 

“You honestly don’t know?” Kent shakes his head, and Jack’s expression softens into something that just looks tired. “The guy from the Avs was Anderberg, right?” 

Kent hesitates, but Jack seems to know anyway, so he nods. 

“He and Whits were dating last year. Whits thought they were exclusive.”

Oh. Oh god. 

The texts from this morning — Dani is Daniel Anderberg. Whitton’s stalkery ex is _that_ absolute douchebag, and Kent just told him… 

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, watching him now.

Whitton hadn’t said much other than it ended badly. Kent certainly never got the impression that Anderberg had a boyfriend, nor that Kent was the only person he’d hooked up with. Was that why they broke up?

“That’s just… fuck me.” 

“Pretty fucked up, yeah,” Jack replies.

“He really didn’t know?” 

Jack sighs. “Well, he knew Anderberg cheated on him, but not the extent of it.”

“Fuck.” 

So, okay, Kent’s never been particularly picky about sex partners. That’s kind of his thing: fuck everybody who’s into him, no feelings allowed and no questions asked. He knows he’s fucked around with people who were in relationships, but he’d always told himself it wasn’t his business to judge someone else’s choices. If they wanted to cheat, that was their own problem. He’d never given much thought to someone getting hurt by it, and certainly had never thought that their pain might be a little bit _his_ fault.

But the look on Whitton’s face just now… Kent has to press his hands over his eyes for a moment. He doesn’t know how he could have done anything differently, if he would’ve made a different choice if Anderberg had said he’d had a boyfriend. It was just a fuck. Well, more like four… no, six fucks, to be precise, but who’s counting? 

Shit.

“Look, I know you think this makes me a huge asshole—”

“I don’t,” Jack says, gently. “That’s on Anderberg, not you.”

“But it was just… it didn’t mean anything. None of it ever does. It’s just sex.”

“Kenny…” Jack hesitates, and Kent steels himself for whatever scolding he’s about to get. Hell, he probably deserves it. “Whits is one of my best friends.”

“I know.”

“And he… there’s baggage there, okay?”

Kent snorts. _Jack_ is going to lecture him about relationship baggage, seriously? Kent is 25 years old and has never been in a functional relationship. How’s that for baggage? “Yeah, well, he’s not the only one.”

“Not everyone is like you,” Jack snaps, and Kent’s chest goes tight. There it is, once again. Jack thinks he still knows Kent. He knows nothing, not a fucking thing about Kent’s life. No one does; they only see what Kent lets them see. No one gets in. 

“Whits is still figuring out what he wants,” Jack says, voice softer now, but still so damn smug.

“You don’t know what I want,” Kent spits, glaring at him. “Maybe you did a long time ago, but you lost the right. So fuck you, Zimms.”

Jack doesn’t react, just stares calmly back at Kent. “I probably deserve that, but Whits doesn’t.” 

“You think I don’t give a shit about anything but myself.”

“No, I think you give a lot of shits. You just don’t want anyone to know it.”

The fuck? No, that’s… that’s not it, not at all. No one _deserves_ to know him that well, is the thing, and— 

Whitton slides back in next to him before he can say as much. His jaw is clenched, his expression tight, like he didn’t even want to come back, but Bittle made him. Kent’s never seen him anything but happy and confident. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen him without a smile. 

Something twists deep in Kent’s chest. He did that, and it’s up to him to make it better. 

He leans in close, lips brushing Whitton’s ear. “Anderberg’s a piece of shit, okay? I don’t know why I even did it, because it wasn’t…” _any good_ , he doesn’t say, because the last thing he needs to do is dig the hole any deeper. “I mean, you deserve so much better than that. I just… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I swear. Let me make it up to you?”

Whitton looks up at him, brown eyes wide and solemn. He finally shrugs, still looking defeated. Kent doesn’t know what to do, if there’s even anything he can do. He remembers then that they have an audience: Jack and Bittle have been watching this whole time. 

Kent sits back and swallows everything down. His emotions are a swirling mess, and he’s not going to let anyone else see that, especially not in a bar during fucking All-Star weekend.

The booth suddenly seems very small. He takes a calming breath. “Well, it’s been a trip. Thanks for the chat and all.” 

He slides toward Whitton, who moves to let him out of the booth. He still looks like a kicked puppy. It’s all Kent can do not to reach out for him.

He bumps Whitton with an elbow instead. “You coming with?”

Whits glances over at Jack and Bittle, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Later, y’all.” 

Kent gestures toward the bar, and Whitton goes, walking beside him. 

“So,” Kent says after a quiet minute. “Still need a wingman?”

Whitton snorts. “I dunno. I mean, It’s not like I didn’t already get some today.”

Kent whistles low, impressed. “Damn.”

“Ah, you know. It was just a guy I’d hooked up with before. We were in the elevator at the same time this morning, and we just looked at each other, and.” He shrugs. 

“And?” Kent presses when Whitton doesn’t seem like he’s going to continue. “Bro, you can’t stop there. You gotta give me some deets.”

“Yeah?” Whitton smiles, finally, and Kent feels a glimmer of hope that maybe he hasn’t fucked up completely.

“C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”

He gets the story out of Whitton over cocktails. It was a quick hookup, between one event and the next, the sort of thing you don’t even take your clothes off for. Even though Kent gets the impression that the sex was fairly pedestrian, Whitton still manages to make it sound like a porno. 

“So his dick’s like, halfway down my throat, and I’ve got his balls in my hand, right?” Whitton pauses to take a sip of his drink. “And I slip back a little, like you do, thinking he might be into being fingered or something, and he’s all, _Nothing in my ass, I’m not gay_.” 

Kent snickers. “Oh, christ, I know exactly who you’re talking about now.”

“And I was all, I didn’t say you were, and he went off on how you can be straight and still suck dick every now and then. And like, I’m literally on my knees, blowing him the whole time.” Whitton shakes his head. “I mean, I’m not gonna tell somebody what label to use, but fuck’s sake, he gave me a handjob in a supply closet two months ago, then sucked my dick in a hotel room, but he’s gonna insist he’s completely straight?”

“Dude’s got a complex. He said the same thing to me.”

Whitton leans his cheek on his palm and frowns. “I guess we didn’t talk much the first time. Or at all. It kinda weirded me out, to be honest.”

“You still got off, though.” Kent clinks his glass against Whitton’s.

“True. Speaking of…” He glances pointedly around the room. “What do you think?”

Kent scans the room too. There’s a few prospects, though they look like they’re otherwise occupied at the moment. A few tables away, he spots a guy he’s hooked up with a few times. He’s sitting with a few other people, but his gaze is locked on Kent now, with definite interest. Kent watches him for a moment, until the guy smiles and looks away.

Kent leans back in his seat. “Let me introduce you to somebody.”

Whitton glances over to where Kent’s looking, and his smile goes wide and genuine. Yeah, that’s gonna work. Everything feels right with the world again.

Ten minutes later, Kent excuses himself from the conversation and heads upstairs. Whitton had given him a searching sort of look, but honestly, Kent’s done for the night. He’s tired and cranky, and just wants to lie down and watch TV for an hour. Maybe get a good night’s sleep.

He goes through his bedtime routine, changes into worn pajama pants and the soft, old Aces t-shirt that’s his favorite to sleep in. He flips through the channels until he finds one playing _Ocean’s Eleven_ , about twenty minutes in. He settles back on the bed with a bottle of water, and watches. 

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he hears a knock on the door of his room. He blinks awake, sits up. He didn’t order anything, and he didn’t arrange for anyone to come up to his room tonight. That he remembers. Fuck, did he? 

He crosses to the door and peeks through the peephole: it’s Whitton.

Kent opens the door and squints at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Whitton’s got a bottle of beer in each hand, and he isn’t remotely fazed by Kent’s reaction. He holds a bottle out to Kent. “Want a drink?”

Kent stares at him a second more, then decides that if he’s dreaming, he might as well roll with it. “Yeah, sure.” He takes the offered beer and steps back to let Whitton in the room. 

Whitton eyes the slightly rumpled bed. “Were you about to turn in, because I can—”

“Nah, just watching a movie.” Kent sits on the bed again and fumbles for the remote to turn the volume down. “Did your hookup not pan out?”

“No, that went as planned.” Whitton toes off his shoes and crosses to sit on the bed next to Kent. “I just figured you’d want to hear the details.”

Kent turns to look at him, surprised. “I… yeah, okay. Shoot.” He raises the bottle to his lips, but Whitton just stares at him for a moment. “What?”

“Nothing, just… I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Oh.” Kent shrugs, and resists the urge to take them off. “Contacts, usually, but when I’m tired they bother my eyes.” He bumps Whitton’s knee with his own. “Don’t tell me you’ve got some kind of geek fetish.”

Whitton smiles and takes a drink from his own bottle. “Bro, I _am_ a geek compared to most of these guys.”

“College boy, right? What’d you study?”

Whitton hesitates a moment. “Math.”

“Seriously? Like… really?” Kent can’t hide his surprise. Not that he doesn’t think Whitton _could_ do that; he’s just never met anyone who actually liked math so much that they’d study it for four years.

“Yep.” Whitton looks down at the bottle in his hands. 

“So you’re like, really smart and shit, huh?”

Whitton makes a small, almost-sad sound. “I don’t know about that.”

Kent watches him for a moment, the way his face looks stark and tense in the flickering light of the TV. His first impression of Whitton was that he was a fun guy, up for whatever, but Kent’s starting to realize he’s a lot more complicated that that. Most hockey players Kent’s ever known were pretty simple guys, but Whitton is… well, the more Kent learns about him, the more he wants to know.

“So you gonna give me those deets or what?”

Whitton’s expression changes again, and it’s somehow both genuine and not, all at once. Kent isn’t offended; he’s a master of repressed emotion, spends most of his time fronting, so he gets it. He can’t blame Whitton for being a little guarded right now. 

“Yeah, so first off, the thing you said about him being flexible? _Bro_. We ended up in this single bathroom, with him on the counter by the sink. He had his back against the mirror and his ankles around my neck, and like—” Whitton laughs, shakes his head “—he’s all, ‘harder, harder,’ but the counter was a little too high, so I was on my toes the whole time, and it was just… I dunno, difficult?”

Kent snickers and leans into his side. “Bruh, I’ve gotten cramps like that. Counter height fucking sucks when you’re not like six foot two.” 

“I finally convinced him to flip over, and that helped, but I kept hitting my hand on the edge of the counter on the reach-around.” He holds up his right hand, and sure enough, it looks a little banged up. 

“Aw. poor baby,” Kent says, and takes that hand between his own, holding it delicately, like it’s seriously injured. “Sex injuries are the worst.”

“So it was okay, I guess? 6 of 10 would bone again, but god, I needed a fucking drink after that.” He leans into Kent’s shoulder and takes another long pull from the bottle. He doesn’t pull his hand away.

Kent stares down at Whitton’s hand pressed between his own. It’s a strangely intimate thing to take someone’s hand, but he did it without even thinking. It just felt right in the moment, which is… weird. He doesn’t _not_ like it, though. In fact, it’s pretty nice. He slowly, carefully intertwines their fingers, watches the way they fit together. He’s barely ever held anyone’s hand as an adult.

Whitton doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes and squeezes Kent’s fingers. The movie is still playing on TV, up to the part where they’re about to pull off the big heist, and they settle in to watch. Kent feels a little giddy, like a teenager holding hands with his crush in a darkened movie theater.

And… okay, honesty time: he’s got a crush on Whitton. He _likes_ him, wants to kiss him and hold his hand and talk to him until the wee hours of the morning, and gross shit like that. It should be a terrifying realization, but admitting it to himself is actually a relief. He’s put a name to it now. He knows what it is. He doesn’t know if anything will come of it, but that’s a problem for future-Kent to deal with. Present-Kent is just going to chill and enjoy it.

They watch the rest of the movie like that, leaning against each other on the bed, fingers tangled together like… like whatever, Kent’s not going to think about it.

“This is my favorite part,” Whitton says when the big reveal of the fake vault happens.

“This is mine,” Kent says when the cast is watching the fountains at the Bellagio at the end. Whitton squeezes his hand again, then lets go.

The credits roll, and neither of them says anything. It’s probably about to get awkward. Kent stares straight ahead at the words on the screen, and… hell, it’s already awkward. He opens his mouth to say something, but Whitton beats him to it.

“You know, you’re actually kinda cute like this.”

Kent turns to look at him, eyes narrowed. “Like what?” Whitton’s eyes flash, and Kent adds, “If you say _soft_ , so help me, I will punch you in the throat.”

“Cuddly,” Whitton says with a smirk.

“Oh, fuck you, I am not.”

“You’re usually like this untouchable asshole, but here you are in PJs and wearing these hipster glasses.” He reaches out like he’s going to touch them, and Kent bats his hand away. “I’m serious, it’s fucking precious.”

“Whatever, I’m not precious just because I‘m wearing pajamas and my eyesight sucks.”

“You totally are.” Whitton manages to pinch Kent’s cheek before he twists away. “So adorable.”

Kent crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. “I hate you.” 

Whitton’s smile widens into a smug grin. “Yeah, yeah. Wanna make out?”

Kent sighs, put-upon, and flatly ignores the the twinge of anticipation in his belly. “I guess.” 

Whitton leans in and kisses him, softly at first, just a gentle tug of lips on lips. He pulls back every time Kent opens his mouth, until Kent makes a sound of frustration.

“Bro, seriously.”

“It’s too easy to rile you up,” Whitton says, then finally licks at the seam of Kent’s lips. 

Kent melts under him, sliding down until he’s flat on his back. His stomach does that flippy thing again, and he ignores it, tries to focus on the tongue sliding against his own, Whitton’s weight pressing him into the mattress. 

The third time his glasses pinch uncomfortably against his nose, he turns his head out of the kiss. “Hang on a sec, let me—” He takes them off and sets them on the nightstand “I had no idea that would be so uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never kissed anybody with your glasses on before?” 

Kent shrugs. “I almost never wear them around other people.”

Whitton grins and settles against Kent’s chest. “I can’t believe there’s something I got to be your first for.”

Kent rolls his eyes. “Wow, you’re an asshole tonight.”

“You like it, though,” Whitton says, leaning down to kiss him again. 

God help Kent, he really, really does. 

They stay like that for a while, kissing and touching each other, none of it really going anywhere. Other than a few ass gropes, nothing even happens below the waist. It’s not something Kent’s used to, at all. His dick has been hard for a good ten minutes now — his body is conditioned to think any close contact with another person will lead to sex — and he’s starting to wonder where it’s all going.

“So like, are we _just_ making out, or…?”

Whitton pauses where he was working his lips down Kent’s neck. “I’ve come like four times in the last 24 hours. I’m good, to be honest.”

“You mind if I jerk off?”

Whitton pops up on his elbows and smiles. “Want me to do that for you?”

Kent was hoping he’d say that. Whitton slides a hand into Kent’s pajama pants and works him slowly, kissing him all the while. He speeds up when Kent tells him to, changes his grip when directed, and Kent comes over his fist a few minutes later, moans muffled by Whitton’s mouth. 

Whitton goes to wash his hands, then comes back and settles next to Kent again. “I should let you go to sleep now, huh?”

Kent makes a noise of protest and rolls toward him, slings an arm and a leg over him. “Give me five minutes and I’ll suck you off.”

“Nah,” Whitton replies. “Maybe tomorrow? My dick’s gonna get chafed at this rate.”

Kent snorts against Whitton’s shirt. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever turned down a beej from me.”

“It’s a night of firsts,” Whitton quips. He pulls Kent against his chest and yawns. “I’m definitely taking a raincheck, though. You can owe me one.”

Kent yawns too. They’re completely wrapped around each other now, and Kent can feel himself drifting already. “You gonna stay?” 

“A little bit longer.” He kisses Kent’s forehead. “You’re so damn cuddly.”

Kent grunts disapprovingly.

“Cuddly,” Whitton repeats, sounding like he’s smiling. He strokes a hand over Kent’s back. “And soft.”

“Fuck you,” Kent mutters, but he still doesn’t move. “Am not.”

“Are too.” Whitton yawns again.

It’s dark when Kent wakes up a few hours later. He’s alone, and Whitton’s side of the bed is cold, and Kent has absolutely zero feelings about that. 

Nope, none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still writing these, I promise! Life has just gotten busy, and the going is slower than I'd like. Thank you so much for reading along, and for loving these two idiots as much as I do. <3


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